To Love the Unlovely
by Lavender Leo
Summary: Hermione Granger overhears a secret about Draco Malfoy that makes her question her feelings towards him. Hermione/Draco, Snape/Hestia Jones. Discontinued. End summary posted.
1. Not Like His Father

DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Harry Potter. This story is purely fan-made.

_Year Two_

Draco Malfoy sat on a bench in the Slytherin changing room. His elbows were stuck to his leather kneepads, his pale face hidden in his hands. A knot had formed in his stomach, twisted excruciatingly tight.

It had been his first game as Seeker, and he had _lost _- not just to anyone, but to Harry Potter. It wasn't shame, however, that made him hang his head, or even the disgusted looks of his teammates, who purposefully shunned him as they changed out of their Quidditch robes in a heavy silence. No - Draco needed a moment to still his nerves before the _real _squall struck.

_He'll come, I know he will_. _Come on, then, and get it over with_.

He did not have long to wait before he got his wish. The clicking heels of his father's black tailored boots drew near. The dividing curtain swished open, revealing behind it the imposing, statuesque figure of Lucius Malfoy. The other Slytherins cast about nervous glances, probably wondering if they would be forced to return the new Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Ones he had bought for the team after he beat Draco senseless.

The superior senior Malfoy raised his chin with a purposeful look. "My son and I need a moment alone."

Those few ominous words were all it took. The Slytherin team caught their collective breath, snatched up their belongings, and scurried like rats off a sinking ship. Lucius held open the curtain with his snake-headed cane until the last one left, then let it fall with a flourish. Draco raised his head, waiting.

"Well. A rather interesting game, wasn't it?" Lucius mused, a false smile playing at his lips. "Those Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Ones really are worth every Knut; they performed quite well, wouldn't you say, Draco?"

Draco hesitated before answering the only safe answer he knew. "Of course, father."

Unexpectedly, Lucius changed the subject. "During the game, I spoke briefly with Professor Snape. He tells me your Potions grade is excellent, the highest in your class - even higher, he said, than that of - what was the filthy little Mudblood's name? Ah, yes. Hermione Granger."

_Like you didn't remember her name_, Draco thought bitterly. _I never should have mentioned her. I should have lied, said I had the best grades in my year. I would have had, had it not been for that bushy-haired little witch_.

"Now I see where your time and effort has gone - not into Quidditch, obviously, despite all the Galleons I laid down in order to assure your spot on the team. I was so sure when I did that you would live up to the Malfoy name for once, and succeed at _something_. Potions." He chuckled to himself.

Draco bit his lip. It would not be long now. Lucius was toying with him, playing a game of cat and mouse before he moved in for the kill.

"Well, I think some commendation is in order," Lucius was saying then, pacing grandiosely back and forth. "Congratulations, Draco. You must be quite proud of yourself. Now you've outdone the progeny of _Muggles_." On that last note, Lucius's voice broke with bitter hatred.

Draco forced himself to stay silent. He knew from experience that if he didn't, it would be the worse for him. No one fought Lucius Malfoy and won.

"_Wasted_," the elder Malfoy hissed now, his rage no longer concealed, "money, pureblood lineage, connections - and for what? Your teammates didn't lose the game today, Draco." In half a second, he was in his face, eyes blazing. "_You did_!"

Draco stared back at him, afraid to breathe.

"You have disgraced me in front of every wizard at Hogwarts - not only that, the entire wizarding community! Your failures reflect a poor image on me and _I will not have it_. You may have no pride in yourself, but _I_ will not be made to look a fool."

"I'm sorry, Father. I won't fail you again."

"No. You won't." With a swish Lucius's wand came out, his cruel eyes glittered. "If this is the only way I can teach you respect for the Malfoy name, so be it. I will _not _have a loser for a son. _Cruci _-"

"Ah, Lucius," rang the dark, deep tones of a familiar voice. "I thought you might be here."

Draco's silver eyes widened with relief as he saw his salvation arrive. Severus Snape, his head of house, now stood just behind them. His father dared do nothing in front of a Hogwarts professor on the school grounds, even if Snape _was _a Slytherin and somewhat of a friend.

Lucius wheeled round, his gaze murderous, then at once alarmingly calm. "Severus," he said coolly, as though he had not been about to perform an Unforgivable Curse on his only son a moment before.

Professor Snape's black eyes flickered without a trace of emotion as they turned from the senior Malfoy to Draco, whose already pallid face had turned ghostly white. "Have I intruded?"

"Not at all," Lucius lied without a blush, "Draco and I have finished our… conversation."

If Snape saw something amiss, he did not show it. "Very well. In that case, I am instructed to take you to Dumbledore's office for the conference you requested."

Lucius raised his head, giving Snape a curt nod. "Yes, of course."

"Follow me." Without a backward glance at his shivering star pupil, Snape exited the changing area. Nearly every other Hogwarts student was terrified of the swishing, batlike black robes that announced Severus Snape's arrival and departure. Draco, however, was terrified to see him leave. His stomach twisted a little tighter as he watched Snape's back disappear from view.

"Consider that a warning, Draco," Lucius whispered venomously as he followed Snape out. "Do not disappoint me again."

Trembling from the inside out, Draco gave a hard shudder. It was not the first time his father had tried to put a curse on him, nor, he imagined, would it be the last. The first time he had been only six years old. He had accidentally broken a wall plaque honoring one of Lucius's many donations to the Ministry of Magic. His mother Narcissa had stopped it then, standing as a shield between them. Draco would never forget the horror of watching her willowy body fall to the floor, convulsing, taking for him the pain he'd been meant to bear. He winced with the memory.

After that day Lucius had always waited until they were alone like this, punishing him in private, warning him to keep his bruises hidden from sight even from his mother, or worse penalties would befall him. Still, he had never crossed the line and used an Unforgivable Curse on him. Until now.

It was a full five minutes before he became aware of himself again, or the fact that tears were now streaming in hot rivulets down his cheeks.

_I must never disappoint him again. Never. Never_...

Dumbledore was pacing in his study when Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy entered. The munificent old headmaster of Hogwarts was worried, but not only over Harry Potter, who would be in the hospital wing by now in the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey.

"Ah, Severus, Lucius. Do come in and have a seat." He outstretched an arm, indicating the plush armchairs just before his desk.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "You wish me to remain, headmaster?"

"Of course. You are, after all, Draco's head of house." Dumbledore smiled softly. "Now then, Lucius, you wanted to see me about your son?"

"Yes." Lucius glanced over at Snape, visibly deciding there would be no harm in his hearing whatever was said. "I know this conference must be regrettably brief, as we both have other pressing business, but I should like to discuss Draco's academic performance."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Dumbledore cheerfully affirmed. "Especially after all young Draco's achievements."

"His achievements?" Lucius repeated in disbelief.

"He has near-perfect scores in all his classes. He is, I believe, second only to one other student in his year in regards to grades, and that is by a margin of only a few points. No doubt Severus has already shared with you that Draco is at the top of his Potions class, among the top five students of every other subject, a superb Quidditch player, and a natural leader in his House. If he keeps this up a further three years, I see no reason he could not be chosen as a prefect - perhaps, one day, even Head Boy."

"Head Boy?" Lucius Malfoy looked as though he had swallowed a spoonful of turpentine. "I see."

"Severus?" Dumbledore said then. "Have you any comment?"

Professor Snape paused a moment, glancing back and forth between the two of them as though caught between a dragon and a lake monster. "I cannot speak for Draco's performance in other classes, only my own," he said carefully. "His Potions grade reflects accurately both the culmination of his own efforts and a natural proclivity for draught-making. He is, as I have said, most attentive and shows promise, given further study, which any student would no doubt require before attempting an OWL."

"There you have it," Dumbledore nodded proudly, "Professor Snape is not known to praise any student, but in finding no criticism, is his highest praise of all." His bespectacled eyes twinkled. "Now, unless there is some other concern, I shall not keep you. I have an appointment with Cornelius Fudge this evening that will not wait."

"Of course. I appreciate your time, and…your opinion." Malfoy looked as though those words might have choked him. "Dumbledore."

After Malfoy swept from the office, Professor Snape lingered beside Dumbledore's desk. "Headmaster, may I speak in confidence?"

Dumbledore's careworn face grew serious. "As always. What have you to tell me, Severus?"

"I have reason to believe that Lucius Malfoy is abusing his son, beyond any acceptable levels of parental punishment." When Dumbledore made no reply, Snape continued. "When I entered the changing area, his wand was pointed at Draco. He was beginning to utter an Unforgivable Curse - the Cruciatus Curse, to be precise."

"Does Lucius know you overheard?"

"I gave him no reason to suspect it, and I am sufficiently accomplished in Occlumency to close my mind to him." Snape's cool demeanor momentarily flickered with concern. "Shall I call Draco here until he leaves, as a precaution?"

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh. "No. If Lucius suspects our interference, young Draco will pay the price for it. He already suffers enough." Dumbledore pondered for a moment before standing to pace. "You know, Severus… Draco is not like his father. He is not evil. His heart is not filled with hate. Lucius sees this, and it must be a great torment to him, but I never thought he would turn his Dark Magic on his own son - "

"Headmaster," Snape hissed, as a gasp sounded behind them.

Hermione Granger stood dumbstruck. She wanted to run away, but her limbs refused to budge. Professor McGonagall's note hung limp in her hand, forgotten in the wake of what she was never supposed to overhear.

"Come all the way in, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said warmly, as though they had been discussing nothing more disquieting than the weather, "don't be shy. Will you leave us, Severus? We can finish our discussion another time."

"As you wish." Snape nodded curtly, then swooped out, casting Hermione a cagey glance before closing the door behind him.

Hermione edged forward, forcing herself to stay calm. "I… F-forgive me, sir, I didn't mean to interrupt… P-Professor McGonagall wanted me to give you this," she finally stammered, holding out with a trembling hand a sealed letter.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said lightly, standing to take the letter. "I see you have stumbled onto our conversation, Miss Granger. Set your mind at ease; there's no harm done. Still, I must ask you to forget what you heard just now - or at least, never to repeat it, even to Harry."

"Of course I won't tell anyone," Hermione promised softly, nodding, "only… Professor, how could anyone put a curse on their own child? It's unthinkable."

Dumbledore lowered his gaze, his hands clasped together over his knees so that he looked almost grandfatherly for a moment. "Dear Miss Granger. You always try to see the best in people. Harry is lucky to have you for a friend, for more reasons than he knows."

Hermione blushed. Dumbledore never gave praise that was undeserved. She watched as he stood and donned a smile that was solely for her comfort.

"You are a fortunate girl, Miss Granger. Your parents have shown you nothing but love and kindness. Your friends' parents who have shown them similar love, even going so far as to lay down their lives for their child." He was, of course, speaking of Harry. "Sadly, in far too many cases, this is not so, as you have just heard evidence. I cannot intervene in what goes on at the Malfoy Manor. But at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy, and every other student in my care, will be safe, for as long as I am here."

Hermione exhaled deeply, letting it all sink in. She thought of the way Malfoy bullied everyone around him, of how he'd called her Mudblood on the Quidditch pitch that day; then she tried to imagine the same blond, pale-faced boy, falling to the floor with a thud as his father took his snake-headed cane and struck him until he screamed. Hermione shivered. The idea of Lucius Malfoy being an abusive parent was not so farfetched. She remembered all too well the way the rich, arrogant wizard had eyed her in Flourish and Blotts. There was an unbridled malice in his eyes, one that had made her genuinely afraid, though more for her defenseless Muggle parents than for herself. She could only imagine the horrors Draco must endure at home under the roof of such a cruel wizard. Even so…

"I see what you're feeling," Dumbledore perceived then, coming round to place a warm hand on her shoulder. "When someone has been unkind to us, it's very hard to feel anything but anger and hatred towards them. Forgiveness is never easy, especially to those who appear not to deserve it. Still, appearances often deceive… and I think, in this case, perhaps…"

"Yes?" Hermione waited, but in the end Dumbledore changed his mind and held his peace, though a mischievous smile was twitching at his beard as he returned to sit behind his desk.

"So, how is Harry?" the headmaster asked, changing the subject.

Hermione blinked a few times, regaining her senses. "Madam Pomfrey says he'll regrow his bones tonight. He's resting now. We'll be allowed to see him when he wakes up."

"Good, good. Take him these for me, will you? I would take them myself, but I have a meeting with the Minister of Magic, one I would much rather avoid." Dumbledore pushed forward a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. "And do remind him to stay away from the ones that look like toffee - he'll know what it means."

Hermione's head was still spinning when she left Dumbledore's office and headed out into the hall, the box of candy hanging almost limply in her hands. Her heart raced; her face felt warm. _Forget, Dumbledore said. As if anyone could forget such a thing! I should never have heard it… but remember your first Arithmancy lesson, Hermione. "There is no such thing as chance in the Wizarding world - probabilities abound, but there is no chance." No, I suppose I was meant to hear it… but why_?

_Draco is not like his father. He is not evil. His heart is not filled with hate_. Over and over she replayed the headmaster's words. If they were true… well, that changed everything, didn't it?

_Appearances often deceive, and I think in this case, perhaps… _Hermione would wonder for some time afterwards what Dumbledore had stopped himself from saying, but that presented an infinite number of possibilities, and in the end she gave up the task of deciphering his thoughts to be impossible.

Later, visiting Harry in the hospital wing and presenting him with Dumbledore's gift, it was all she could do to hold her tongue. Hermione was relieved when Madam Pomfrey shooed them out so Harry could rest. Complaining to Ron about needing to go study, she hurried away. She _did _intend to study, but not for class.


	2. Madam Pince's Assistant

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't own any characters you recognize, etc.

Row after row, aisle after aisle, the familiar smells of leather binding and time-worn pages comforted Hermione like the warm smells of home cooking or a new box of crayons might comfort other children.

In Muggle grammar school, Hermione hadn't had a single friend, save her beloved books. She could still remember their faces - the mean boys who put gum in her hair and called her "Gopher-head" and "Bucky;" the crueler girls who pretended to be her friends only to talk about her viciously behind her back; the cold-faced teachers who had looked the other way. No, books were safer than people. They didn't make fun, or play spiteful games with her heart, or trap her in the loo and refuse to let her come out, which she had relived on a larger scale with the troll last year... Hermione sniffed and squinted her eyes shut, blocking away the memory.

A lonely and ostracized little girl, she had learned to defend herself with the only weapon she then possessed - her wits. Bossiness and a fierce sense of independence kept most people away. Hermione had learned the hard way that if people couldn't get close to you, they couldn't hurt you. It was only when two young boys risked their lives to save hers that Hermione chose to make an exception to the "never trust anyone" rule she had set for herself. Even so, she made a point of not letting Harry and Ron know more about her than she chose to let them, and that was precious little.

_I should have seen it sooner_, Hermione thought, recognizing that manner of brushing-off to avoid hurt in Malfoy as well as herself. Yes, he had Crabbe and Goyle to boss around, but he didn't have any real _friends _at Hogwarts.

_As I so meanly pointed out before, implying that he had to buy his way onto the Quidditch team_, Hermione scolded herself. _Of course, I didn't know then what I know now… Besides, I'm Harry's friend. I was just standing up for him, that's what friends do_… But the nagging ache of guilt remained. It seemed the only way to ignore it was to focus completely on her chosen task.

_Now, I need a book on Wizarding law_. _Muggles have laws against child abuse; surely we do as well. I just have to find them_. It wouldn't come together in her mind until later that night that if Lucius Malfoy was unafraid of using a curse that would get him sent straight to Azkaban, he wouldn't fear any law at all. _Here we are, let's see… Estate Law for Magical Homes and Establishments… Goblin Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP)… The Grande Olde Code of the Wizengamot… no, no_…

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't see the person coming at her until she had run smack into him. "Oh, so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was - _you_!"

Draco Malfoy glared at her from under his golden-white crown of hair. "Yes, me. What's the matter, Granger? Hoping it was old Lockhart come to sign autographs, sealed with a kiss?"

Hermione flushed scarlet. How on earth could Malfoy have known about her schoolgirl's crush on the dashing blond professor - or cared? "Of course not. I was distracted, that's all."

Draco snorted. "So I noticed."

_Draco is not like his father. He is not evil. His heart is not filled with hate_. Again, Dumbledore's words echoed in her mind. A sudden twinge tightened her chest. "So… is everything all right?"

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, then glanced around uncertainly. "What are you talking about?"

_Uh-oh_. She hadn't meant to voice her concern; it just slipped out. Dumbledore had sworn her to secrecy. She had to say something - _fast_. "I meant, um… are you _finding _everything all right?"

Malfoy sneered. "I didn't know Madam Pince hired an assistant. Helping Weaselby raise some extra pocket money, are you? A little _too _noble of you, Granger, even for a Gryffindor. If he needs the gold, he should work himself and stop depending on you and Potter for handouts."

"I -" Hermione steadied herself, trying not to make the blunder her friends had in responding to his rise. "You're mistaken, Malfoy. I'm not Madam Pince's assistant."

He seemed surprised that she made no argument in defense of Ron. "Ah, well, no matter. I've already found what I was looking for."

"And that is?"

Draco held up the book he was carrying, an enormous black-bound volume that Hermione could have sworn was making a low gurgling noise. _Mazalov's Guide to Obscure Potions and Dangerous Draughts_ was enscribed on the spine in faded white letters. "Extra credit for Professor Snape. You?"

"Oh, erm… something for Charms," she lied.

"Shows how distracted you are. You're in the wrong aisle. You should be over there." Malfoy thumbed in the opposite direction. "Wouldn't have thought _you'd _ever get lost in here."

"Have the library memorized, do you?" Hermione asked, not aware until it was too late that it came out like an insult.

"Probably about as well as you," he rejoined nastily. "Don't look so shocked, Granger. I _do _know how to read."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Malfoy, I never said that -"

"The library will be closing in five minutes," Madam Pince's harsh voice interrupted over the loudspeaker.

Hermione inwardly groaned. Malfoy had meant to be helpful by steering her in the right direction, but instead of apologizing as she'd planned, her antagonism had gotten them into another row. Come to think of it, it wasn't the first time. That day when he'd called her a Mudblood, she _had _been discourteous to him first.

"Better get a move on," Draco drawled then, "or they'll lock you in here for the night - not that _you'd _mind." With a snide laugh, he sauntered away.

_That was close_, Hermione thought with a sigh of relief. She hadn't realized until now what a delicate line she would have to walk. She could no longer insult Malfoy or return his barbs with enthusiasm. Then again, if she were too kind, he would get suspicious, and so would Ron and Harry.

Hermione was suddenly impressed with what a strong wizard Albus Dumbledore really was. No doubt he carried many secret burdens, all the while flattering with delicacy and showing the world nothing but a smile.

Malfoy exited the library with a skip in his gait. His father had frightened him nearly out of his wits, but taunting Potter or his friends always lifted his spirits. At least then he didn't have to be alone in his misery. _Malfoy - one, Mudblood - zero_, he tabulated with a vicious smirk, pleased that he'd gotten in the last word.

_Whatever was the matter with her, anyway? _Come to think of it, he had never seen her so unfocused. And when she had realized it was him she bumped into, her large brown eyes hadn't rolled with their usual look of self-righteous disdain. They'd looked full on him without the slightest trace of loathing. They had been wide, sympathetic, almost commiserating.

_Probably just pining away because I mentioned that idiot Lockhart_, he thought with a superior sniff.

Draco vividly recalled that day in Flourish and Blotts when he had first set eyes on the debonair, if dim-witted, blond wizard who would become their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Draco had been watching an unsuspecting Granger from the balcony as she waited in line to get his autograph. He remembered the feeling of disgust that had washed over him as she simpered and sighed over that sham of an author, as though he were anything but a bloody useless buffoon. Her bucktoothed smile had widened still further for that scarhead Potter… but the smile had faded to a look of apprehension as he himself descended the stair towards her.

_Oh, who cares how Granger looked at me_? Malfoy determined, putting it out of his mind. He had work to do. He hadn't lied about doing extra credit for Snape from _Mazalov's Guide_, but another spell in the same book had caught his eye - one for temporary invincibility.

That night, Draco would read and research into the early morning hours with a devotion that would have rivaled Hermione's. To be invincible for a moment - to see his father's face twist when he realized he couldn't harm him! Finding the possibility of such a momentary revenge was definitely worth going without a night's sleep.

The next morning at the breakfast table, Harry was back and good as new, glad to be drinking pumpkin juice instead of Skele-gro. Hermione gave him a faint grin, but it faded when she looked over at Malfoy. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was taut with concentration. Pity welled up in her. Had fears of going home for the holiday been keeping him up at night?

"More kippers, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"No, thank you," she smiled abstractedly. Thankfully the boys were distracted by the excellent food. Had they not been, they might have noticed that Hermione couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the Slytherin table… or a certain person who sat in the center of it.

Hermione etched in her mind as if to memorize them the angular lines of his cheek, the carefully combed-back strands of cornsilk hair, the odd silver-grey color of his eyes. She had never noticed it before, but there was a handsomeness to him that was nearly _too _perfect. Seemingly, his only flaw was the dark sort of sadness that lingered in his eyes, and even that only made his visage all the more bewitching. _All this time I've hated him… and I never even_ knew _him. I wonder if anyone really does._

"Whuff wong, Hmmi-ney?" Ron wondered then, his mouth crammed full of toast and jam.

Hermione gasped, forcibly drawn back to the present. "Nothing," she lied, pretending to study her open Charms book. But when the red-haired boy shrugged and dug back into his breakfast, she cast another glance upward. _Malfoy_, she thought, almost willing him to look up at her. _Are you all right_?

Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco slammed the black-bound book shut and shoved it into his bookbag.

"I should have known it would be out-of-date," he growled. Part of the invincibility potion had called for organs from an animal native to Africa that had went extinct a hundred years before. _Great_, he thought miserably, _just great. Now all I need is a Time Turner, a pith helmet and a rifle. Tally-ho_.

His clever plan was ruined, and with it his mood. He stood to leave, then noticed that someone at the Gryffindor table had the audacity to stare at him. He blinked his sleep-deprived eyes, then squinted.

It was Granger, all right. Even tired as he was, he could never mistake that wild bush of mousy-colored hair. She had that look on her face again - the wide eyes and pursed lips she had worn in the library. He could almost hear the worry in her voice, the words so softly spoken as she had asked him: _Is everything all right_? Remembering it now, it had almost sounded sincere.

Any other time, he would have engaged in a stare-out with her, wearing her down with an insensitive glare. But not now. Breaking the connection, he turned and headed for the Slytherin dormitories to sulk.


	3. Something's Wrong

The bell rang signaling the end of class. Students poured out of Snape's dungeon, groaning about the essay he had assigned: a foot and a half of parchment on the effects of the Brutalitus draught.

Draco remained in his seat; he hadn't even noticed them leave. He had only paid attention for half of the class. The other half he spent sketching in his notebook. Currently he was working on a bushy-haired, buck-toothed squirrel that, despite his best efforts to make it ugly, turned out rather cute. He drew it with one paw raised, jumping up and down as though eager to answer a question, and scrawled over it 'Stupid Mudblood.' He glanced over at her empty chair, deep in thought.

"Mr. Malfoy?" the gravelly voice of Professor Snape spoke up. "Are you so fond of my class that you wish to remain in it during the next period, or has Potter put a Sticking Charm on your chair?"

Malfoy's head jerked up, his pale face flushing as he realized everyone else had gone. He quickly snapped his notebook shut and dropped it into his bag. "Er, no, Professor… sorry, I was distracted." _Those were her words_, he grudgingly recalled.

It had been over a month since that strange moment they had shared in the library, and a week since Hermione Granger had been found Petrified, yet time did nothing to ease Malfoy's conscience, nor wipe the memory of her wide eyes and sympathetic face from his mind. Though he didn't want to admit it, he blamed himself for what had happened to her. Hadn't he scornfully related to Crabbe and Goyle that he wanted the monster to get Hermione?

_Granger_, he reminded himself now, scolding himself for even the mental use of her first name. _But it's not like I set the monster on her myself. I'm not the heir of Slytherin. I don't even know who is._

Anyway, why was he feeling so guilty? She was a Mudblood. His father would say he should be happy that she was lying in the hospital wing, unable to move or speak. But Draco wasn't happy. He couldn't even muster a smirk.

_What's wrong with me_? he wondered, shaking his head as if the mere action would make his undesirable thoughts fall out his ears. _I shouldn't be concerned - not for _her_. I'm a Pureblood. A Slytherin. A Malfoy._

Yet her words rang just as clearly through his mind as if the thoughts had been his own: _Is everything all right?_ How could she have known it wasn't? No second-year could possibly be a Legilimens. And if she _did _somehow know, why would she care? She couldn't imagine they were on friendly terms… could she? Shrugging it off, Malfoy shifted his bag over his shoulder and started to leave.

"Wait, Mr. Malfoy. Do you have a class this period?" Snape called after him.

"Free period, sir," Malfoy replied, pausing, "why?"

"Two reasons. First, if you were to be late, I would have written you the necessary excuse. Second, Professor Sprout tells me that the Mandrakes are nearing maturity. Once they are harvested, I am to brew a potion to restore the Petrified. Some parts of the preparation require more than two hands. I wondered if you would volunteer to help."

Draco hesitated. "Me?"

"You have proven yourself capable in potion-making," Snape said. "I would, of course, be awarding you bonus points for the assistance. And should you ever desire to pursue a career as a Healer, you might find the experience useful."

Malfoy needed neither the bonus points nor the experience. However, he found himself saying, "Of course, Professor."

"Excellent. I shall notify you when the Mandrakes are ready." Snape eyed him closely. "Are you feeling ill, Mr. Malfoy? You look rather… out of sorts."

"I'm fine, sir," Draco assured him, although Snape didn't look convinced.

LL

Draco reclined in the Slytherin common room, eyes closed, his golden head laid back against the green chair as though it were uncommonly heavy tonight. Crabbe and Goyle were in their room, stuffing themselves with sweets. Malfoy shook his head, unable to bear the thought of joining them. He had thought once about looking in on Blaise Zabini, but even his conversations were hardly noteworthy. One could only praise their wealth and pureblood heritage so long before it became tiresome, and Draco wasn't going to leave his comfy chair just to go and be bored.

_It's times like this I wish the Sorting Hat had put me in Ravenclaw_, Malfoy thought, exasperated, _at least then I'd have someone to talk to with an IQ above 3. _He dared not face the real reason he felt so weary of Slytherin House and his circle of acquaintances - not yet - and still it loomed over him like a bat on his shoulder, casting a shadow over all he could see. The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly, and it seemed that sleep would stay his relief as long as it could. Draco could only force his eyes shut, and wait.

Unbeknownst to him, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode had just come in through the hidden door and were whispering back and forth. Millicent elbowed Pansy and winked at her. "There he is! Go on, do it!"

The dark-haired girl bit her lip and looked awkward for a moment, but finally got up her nerve. Pansy tiptoed over to where Draco sat, her eyes eager and anxious at the same time. She was almost there; Millicent was giving her a thumbs-up. Pansy leaned over, Draco's breath warming her chin.

Suddenly, eyes still shut, Draco spoke. "Don't you dare."

Pansy gasped and jumped about a foot backwards. "Draco… I thought you were asleep."

"Apparently," he scowled, his flickering grey eyes now telling that he was very much awake. "Thought you'd toy around with me while I was defenseless? I don't appreciate it, Pansy."

The girl looked as though she'd been smacked in the face. Clutching her books to her chest, she murmured a quick, "I'm sorry, Draco," then hurried alongside Millicent to the girls' dormitories.

As they left, Draco rolled his eyes. Pansy had made no secret of her schoolgirl's crush on him. As she was the least unattractive girl near his age in Slytherin House and a wealthy pureblood to boot, it was assumed by nearly everyone that they would make a decent pair.

_Everyone except me_, Draco thought grimly.

Reaching down for his bookbag, he rummaged its contents until he found his notebook. He flipped through the pages, landing on his sketch of Hermione as a squirrel.

"_Stupid Mudblood_," he whispered aloud, his long white fingers brushing over the picture. Then, without warning, he snapped it shut and stood. There was something he had to do.

LL

Roaming the corridors at night was forbidden for Hogwarts students. Malfoy knew what he risked, but he could not stand the empty silence of the Slytherin common room any longer, nor did he think to find peace in sleep. "_Lumos_," he whispered, lighting the way ahead.

LL

Madam Pomfrey was putting away her medicinal supplies, replacing bottles to their proper places on the shelves by soft candlelight. The old mediwitch took out the spoons to wash them, exhaling a tired breath. She was beginning to lose hope for the poor Petrified students, some of whom had been with her for weeks now. Shaking her head, she looked up at the long row of potions and the dancing glow of candles they reflected in shades of blue and white and silver - and thought she saw movement.

She whirled round, expecting to see one of the ailing students needing her help, but no one was there. My eyes playing tricks on me, she thought sadly, first symptom of age creeping up!

But then a voice struck her ear - so soft, so faint it nearly escaped her notice. It was merely a whisper, yet so full of emotion that she almost dared not move. Instead she stood still, barely breathing, and listened.

"It's all your fault," the voice was saying. "I can't eat, I can't sleep, for worrying about you. And why should I? I hardly know you."

A moment of silence passed before it continued. "It isn't right for me to feel this way. It isn't proper. My father would kill me if he knew I was here." There was a light scoff. "_I _can't even believe I'm here! Did you cast some spell over me, is that it? Some charm to make me think Mudbloods are suddenly friends and my father is a monster for being what he is? To make me think something is wrong with _me_?" Another scoff. "Because you're wrong. You're _wrong_!"

Madam Pomfrey suddenly didn't like where this was going. She peered round the corner, where a child's figure stood over the nearest bed, the one where Hermione Granger lay frozen with one hand stretched upward. In the darkness she couldn't make him out clearly, only that he was male, and that his hair seemed pale and his face narrow. He knelt by the bed, murmuring something anguished that she could not make out. It was time she called a halt to this. She reached for her wand, accidentally knocking over a metal cup.

The cup fell to the floor with a clang, rattling as it rolled over the uneven stone. The boy looked up, his face hidden in the shadows.

"You there! Visiting hours are over, and you're supposed to be in bed!" Madam Pomfrey rushed forward in her bustling skirts, holding her lit wand aloft. "Well, where the devil did he go?"

The boy hid behind a large medicine cabinet, holding his breath. He waited until he heard Madam Pomfrey's sigh and her retreating steps before sneaking out the way he came, and back into the shadowy halls.


	4. You're Not Evil

Final examinations were over, and another eventful year at Hogwarts was coming to a close. Hermione stood in line, waiting to return the last of her books to the library. Thinking of her half-packed suitcase in Gryffindor Tower, she couldn't help but grin. Home may have been a little more boring than Hogwarts, true enough, but at least there she wouldn't run a chance of coughing up hairballs from being turned feline, or frozen stiff by a giant snake.

_Or have the boy whose dark secret you've been carrying wish death upon you_, Hermione thought bitterly. It had been eating away at her since Harry and Ron had told her. Oh, what Malfoy had _said _to them after they'd taken the Polyjuice Potion! She could almost hear his gloating tones as he spoke so easily of the basilisk to what he thought were Crabbe and Goyle, when he said, "As for me, I hope it gets Granger."

_How dare he be so cold, so unfeeling, when I've been nothing but concerned for him! How could Dumbledore be so wrong about anyone? I never would have thought the world's greatest wizard could be such a poor judge of character._

"Returning your room key?" asked a cool voice from behind her. "I could have sworn you lived here."

_Speak of the devil_. Hermione turned in disbelief, protectively clutching her books to her chest, as if to make a defensive wall around her heart. She knew exactly who she would find there, staring back at her. "There are worse things, Malfoy," she quipped in reply, "like not living at all. Or did you forget that a giant serpent nearly killed me?"

Malfoy's confident smile faded. He remembered the sight of her, frozen in the dark, her eyes staring blankly upward as if they were made of glass. "I didn't forget."

"No?" she mockingly mused. "You're probably just sorry you weren't there to see it."

"That's not true," he retorted, his pointed face twisting.

"Really? Then why would you tell Crabbe and Goyle you wanted it to get me?" _Let him ponder on that awhile_, she thought smugly as she turned to walk away, slamming her books on the counter before Madam Pince could utter a word.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy snapped as he dropped his own books off, chasing after her, "but it might interest you to know, I helped Professor Snape make the potion that saved you and all the others."

That stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. She turned on her heel, her jaw hanging slack a moment before she could speak. "_What_?"

"It's true." Malfoy strode towards her, his chin tilted high. "Ask Professor Snape if you don't believe me. No, wait, why would you believe anything anyone else says? You're too far up Potter's nose to see the light of day."

"Hang on!" Hermione said a little too loudly. People began turning and gawking at them, eyebrows raised at the unlikely pair speaking to each other.

Draco quickly realized how volatile his position was; it wasn't every day a Slytherin and a Gryffindor had it out, and too many ears would be eagerly listening for the juicy gossip they might hear. He couldn't risk it. Taking control of the situation, he grabbed the protesting Hermione's forearm and steered her out of the library. They took a swift right and another right into a deserted passage, where he promptly shoved her away from him.

"Now, do you think you can talk low enough to keep the conversation just between us?" he snapped, glancing back to make sure they hadn't been followed.

"Why, because you're ashamed to be seen talking to a _Mudblood_?" she barked back, tears in her eyes. "Or did you just drag me out here to curse me? I stood up for you, you know! Harry and Ron were sure _you _were the heir of Slytherin, that _you _were the one attacking Muggle-borns, and I told them it couldn't be you. Merlin, what was I _thinking_?"

"You… you told Potter it wasn't me?" Draco was taken aback. "Why would you do that?"

Hermione wiped at her eyes, angry with herself for having shown weakness. "Oh, come off it, Malfoy! I _know _you're not evil. You may bully people around to get attention, you may be cocky and selfish and rude, but I know there's good in you, even if you _are _too afraid to show it."

Draco baulked, his jaw hanging agape. Money and arrogance were the two walls a Malfoy could safely hide behind. He employed them well, fooling everyone else - but not Hermione. At the Quidditch field, she had slammed through the first of his protective walls. Now, she had just blasted through the other. That really took the steam out of his cauldron.

_Merlin's beard… does she really see through me that easily? _It was a recognition that filled him simultaneously with both hope and fear. His face pinkened slightly. He had to take the focus off himself, if only for a moment. "That basilisk must have addled your wits, Granger. What am I supposed to say?"

Hermione sniffed, regaining her composure. "You don't have to say anything. If what you say is true, if you _did _help Professor Snape, that's all the evidence I need to know that I was right. That you _aren't _evil. If you were, you would have wanted Muggle-borns to die and would never have done anything to help them survive." She wiped her cheeks; her eyes still stung, though the tears had stopped falling.

"But you thought there was good in me _before _I told you I helped Professor Snape," Draco reasoned aloud. "Enough to try to convince Potty and the Weasel it wasn't me."

"Their names are Potter and Weasley, in case you've forgotten," Hermione reminded him tersely.

"All right, fine, Potter and Weasley," he replied hastily, willing to make the sacrifice of calling them by their right names if it meant he could hear the truth. "I just don't understand why you'd stand up for me. Why did you?"

Hermione stared at her shoes. This wouldn't be easy. "That day, on the Quidditch field... I know what I said had to have hurt your feelings. I embarrassed you in front of all your teammates. If you'd been evil, you would have hexed me for that, or hurt me some other way… but you didn't." _There, Dumbledore_, she thought with relief, _I kept my promise. _

When she glanced up, Draco had turned away, as if unable to face her. "I called you Mudblood," he mumbled over his shoulder. "Was that not offensive enough? I don't know of anything worse."

"It was, I just...I know I'm not wrong about this. That day I met you in the library, I wanted to apologize to you. Then, of course, we fought, as usual..." Her shoulders raised in a sheepish shrug.

Draco whirled round. "You were going to apologize? To _me_? Since when do you care what _I_ think? We're enemies. Aren't we?"

Hermione's head slowly shook from side to side. "I'm not your enemy, Draco. To be your enemy I'd have to hate you, and for some strange reason… I can't. Not really."

Draco softened; a light scoff escaped him. "Do you realize you just called me by my name?"

_I did_, she realized with a flush, before realizing something even more astounding - he was actually _smiling _at her. She gave him a tentative smile back.

Aware he'd been caught off guard, Malfoy hurriedly folded his arms, resuming his sneer. "So…what do you want, then? A truce? Your boyfriend Potter wouldn't like that."

Hermione rolled her eyes, the moment broken as he resumed the outward show of loathing. "Honestly, why does everyone think that? Harry's _not _my boyfriend. Anyway, I'm not asking him, I'm asking _you_."

Draco reflected for several long, anxious moments. Hermione's brows raised hopefully as she saw the inner struggle play out across his facial features. _His heart is not filled with hate… _Dumbledore's voice echoed in her mind.

At length, he made his barely audible reply. "It wouldn't work. All the Slytherins hate you, and all the Gryffindors hate me. It's not as though we could ever be bosom companions, you know? Besides, you're a…"

"A _Mudblood_?" she snapped furiously.

He gave a noncommital shrug. "Well, yeah."

Despite her resolve not to lose her temper, her ire sizzled. "And what does _that _have to do with anything? I'm just as much a witch as you are a wizard."

"I never said you weren't. But to some people, blood means everything."

"By that, you mean your father, don't you? You act like you idolize him, but how can you, when all he's ever taught you is how to hate and to hurt?" Hermione caught her breath. She had come too close to revealing what she knew.

Draco's gray eyes flashed like steel. "What do you know about my father, Granger? You'd best steer clear of him, if you know what's good for you."

She stepped forward crossly, reaching for her wand. "Is that a threat?"

Draco grabbed her wrist, pushing her wand back down to her side. "It's a warning. My father knows how to fight and he doesn't fight fair. You wouldn't stand a chance against him."

Hermione flushed for an instant, glancing down at the long, pale fingers of his hand clasped about her wrist. He had never actually touched her before this. What's more, Hermione suddenly realized that his words hadn't been meant as an affront. They were protective.

_He's trying to save me from going through what he does_, she realized with a start. She and Draco glanced down at the skin where they touched as though it were the strangest of sights, and he quickly let go, backing away a step.

"I'm not going to be afraid of him - or you," she added to break the awkward silence, pocketing her wand as Draco released his grip.

Draco had thought a Mudblood's hands would feel slimy, or dirty somehow - but they were smooth and warm, their only mar some smudged ink from her quill. He gave an involuntary shiver at the awkwardness of their touch; luckily it was concealed beneath his robes. "Just don't give him a reason to come after you."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Malfoy, your father doesn't need a _reason _to attack anyone. Look what he did to poor Ginny Weasley, giving her You-Know-Who's diary. It made her hurt all those people and in the end it almost killed her."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "_Father _gave her that?"

Hermione nodded. "That day before school started, in Flourish and Blotts. We all saw him handle her books."

Draco remembered. He didn't want to believe either that Lucius had been in possession of the Dark Lord's diary and hadn't told him, or that he would slip it to an unsuspecting little girl, but he also knew that Hermione was the honorable sort who would never lie.

"She's just a child," Hermione went on as he stayed silent, shaking her head. "She hadn't done a thing to him. What kind of monster hurts a child, anyway?"

It was that last that made the glacier of Malfoy's heart begin to crack. His only defense against her was to be offensive, but even that was wavering. Something about Granger's words had rung all too true. The more she spoke, the more it seemed his world was bound together by a circle of lies, tightly knotted together - one it would be dangerous to unravel. He had to get out of there, now.

Malfoy leaned treacherously close, whispering so low that she could scarcely hear. "You've got your truce, Granger, on one condition. Speak a word of it to Potter, or anyone else, and the deal is off."

ooo LL ooo

Malfoy sped down the hall, leaving a baffled Hermione in his wake. His limbs were shaking almost as badly as they did in his father's presence.

_Hermione can't know_, he assured himself, _I mean, Granger… Legilimency is advanced magic, too advanced even for someone who's read every textbook we have at least three times. She can't be reading my mind_.

Yet those brown eyes had been wide and full of concern as she had said those striking words: "_What kind of monster hurts a child, anyway_?" She could have no idea how deeply those words would assail him.

_My father is _not _a monster_, he struggled to convince himself. _He sees that I could be more, and when I fall short, of course he gets angry. He's pushing me to fulfill my potential as a Malfoy. That's all. And as for Ginny Weasley, surely he didn't mean for _her _to have that diary… no, it had to have been some awful mistake; sure, the Weasleys are blood traitors, but even Father wouldn't try to kill a defenseless little girl…_

But he was no longer so certain of himself, or his father, or even what he truly believed. What kind of power did Granger have over him, anyway? How was it only a few words from her could shake him to the core and make him question everything he'd known to be true only moments before?

Something was happening to him, something he couldn't control. Because of her. He'd felt it before, drawn inexplicably to the hospital wing and to her bedside. He'd stared at her in the dark, those brown eyes that had seen straight through him unable to look back and see the angst in his expression. Before Madam Pomfrey had frightened him away, a mysterious impulse had grabbed him, and he had knelt at her side, whispering words he could not even repeat to himself for fear he'd be overheard.

_What are you doing to me_? he'd thought desperately then. It was the same thought he was having now.

Draco was making his way back to the Slytherin common room when his father came storming down the hall towards him. The young Slytherin caught his breath. He had never seen his sire so enraged.

"F-father?" Draco dared. "What's the matter? What are you doing here? And where's Dobby?"

"You'll be doing your own packing from now on," Lucius snarled, his venomous glare all the prompting Draco needed to keep quiet. "I suggest you get to it, and mind your own affairs."


	5. Tea and Scones

_Year Three_

The summer was over. Hermione shivered in her sweater, wishing its wool another inch thicker. She hoped that the rain pelleting the roof of the Hogwarts Express and the frigid chill made by the dementors wandering its corridors were not an omen of what was to come in their third year.

She slid out of the compartment and wandered toward the back of the Hogwarts Express. After seeing that awful dementor come after Harry, she was lucky she hadn't wet her pants. As it was, she still needed to use the lavatory. _Lupin said we had ten more minutes_, she thought, _that should be enough time for me to get there and back_.

She was starting to wonder if it hadn't been a bad time to get up, though. The train's unsteadiness and bumping weaved her back and forth, and the lights kept flickering on and off. She could only hope she would not encounter another dementor in the passage. Fortunately she did not meet with any of Azkaban's guards, but in the middle of the last tunnel, she lost her footing and plunged forward into something slightly softer than the wall.

"Oof!" she cried, feeling a pair of hands pull her up and steady her. "Sorry about that. Are you all right?"

"Fine," a voice snapped; it sounded vaguely familiar, but she could hardly distinguish whose it was. "Hold still, we'll be out of it in a moment."

The tunnel ended, and the lights came back on overhead. Hermione gasped. It was - "Malfoy!"

Only Draco Malfoy was no longer a child. Like Hermione, he had grown over the summer. He was taller, thinner, his voice deeper, his once carefully-groomed golden locks now flopping over a high forehead. "Well, Granger, fancy us _running into one another _like this again. Still no better at watching where you're going, I see."

Startled, she took a step backwards, almost falling again. For some reason, she felt the need to get out of his proximity. "Sod off, Malfoy."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. "That wasn't very nice. Upset I came to visit you, then? What about our truce?"

Hermione's mind flashed back to the minutes immediately preceding the dementor's attack on Harry. She had seen Malfoy's narrow face peer through the glass of the compartment door before Harry and Ron had. She had feared he and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle might look for her friends and start a row to ring in the new school year, but thankfully Professor Lupin's presence held Malfoy and Ron back from each other when she dared not try. _Already this truce thing is getting sticky_, she thought in dismay. _How can I let them hurt Malfoy when I know how much he's been hurt already... and how can I let Malfoy hurt my friends_?

"I can't exactly think of it as a social call when Crabbe and Goyle are standing behind you, looking as though they want to pound someone," Hermione pointed out, her expression an admonitory one.

"Oh, yeah. They followed me," Draco lamented with a shrug. "It's a habit of theirs. I have to admit, sometimes it gets bothersome."

"Can't you ever go anywhere without your two favorite bodyguards tagging along?" she goaded.

He raised a mocking eyebrow. "Can't you?"

_Touché_, she thought, although she chose not to answer. "What's more, you didn't speak to me. All you did was insult Harry and Ron. That can't be counted as a proper visit."

"What was I going to say in front of them?" Draco countered. "Ask if you had a pleasant summer, and to come by the Slytherin common room for tea and scones?" He snorted at his own joke.

"You know what I mean." Hermione worked to hide her smile.

"Aha! I saw that!" His grin was blatantly cheeky. "Come on, admit it, you were pleased to see me."

"Malfoy, you said you wanted a truce, not a friendship," Hermione reminded him briskly. "Or have you changed your mind?"

"I may have thought about it once or twice," Malfoy admitted, polishing his Malfoy heirloom ring on his robes and gazing at it instead of her.

"Oh?" she asked expectantly, lips pursed.

_More than I'd ever tell you_, he mentally appended. Not a day that summer had gone by that he hadn't remembered that conversation in the hallway outside the library, or the warmth of her touch. Still, he had his pride. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that she had captured his fascination. He met her gaze again, feigning a disinterest that he didn't actually feel. "Thing is, even if you weren't a Mudblood -"

"That's _Muggle-born_, thank you," she interrupted frostily.

" - Whatever. I'd still be forced not to like you, because you're the perky little teacher's pet that won best in our year." Draco paused. "My father was furious when he found out."

_Oh, no_, Hermione thought, her face falling. _What did he do to him_? Still, "You can't hold that against me. I'm not responsible for what your father does."

She had thought that would anger Draco, but a slow smirk spread across his face. He seemed amused that she had stood up to him. "This is going to be a very boring friendship if all we're ever going to talk about is my father."

_So it really is friendship you want? With _me_? All right, who are you and where did you lock up the real Malfoy_? Hermione raised a quizzical brow. "You're right. Let's change the subject. When _are _you going to pop over to the Gryffindor common room for tea and scones, Malfoy?"

Layers of superciliousness drained from Draco's face, revealing the first genuine smile she had ever seen him wear. When he looked at her like that, he was no longer a sour Slytherin or proud pureblood; he was just a pale, grey-eyed boy with the face of an angel. It was extremely disturbing.

"Well done, Granger!" Draco lauded. "You actually made a joke! I didn't think you had it in you." His smile was so wide that she wondered why his face didn't crack.

"I know - whoa - whoa!" The train lurched again and she fell forward, pinning Malfoy to the wall. "Oh, not _again_…Sorry!"

But Malfoy didn't look a bit sorry. At less than two inches from her face, so close she could feel his breath, he looked as though he wanted her nowhere else.

_Pity he's always hiding that smile under a scowl, _she thought wistfully_. He's so…Wait, I can't think he's cute, he's Malfoy_! Yet if Hermione had been anywhere near a mirror, she would have seen herself blush furiously.

"You can get off me now, Granger," he teased as the train's pace steadied.

"No, I can't," she corrected, shame-faced, "not until you let go of me."

Draco glanced down. As though they had a will of their own, his hands were still clasping her waist, holding her firmly. "Oh. Right."

But even then he didn't let go. Hermione's heart thudded loudly in her ears. She didn't know if it was because he was leaning towards her, or she was leaning into him, but they were hazardously close, their faces only an inch away…

"Oi! Get your slimy hands off her!"

Hermione whirled round to find an angry Ginny Weasley standing in the corridor with her wand drawn. Only then did she realize what a compromising position she and Draco were in.

"Let her go, Malfoy," Ginny threatened, edging closer.

As Hermione hurriedly straightened herself up, Malfoy held up his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, no… it's Little Miss Weasley to the rescue! Heavens to Merlin, what'll I _do_? Save me, someone, _save me_!" He put a hand to his brow, pretending to be faint.

Hermione squeezed her lips together in a tight line. Ginny would never have understood if a guffaw had escaped her at that moment. "It's all right, Ginny," she assured her, "don't mind him. Come on."

Leaving a laughing Draco in their wake, Hermione and Ginny moved back toward the loo.

"Harry and Ron were worried about you walking around alone with those dementors in the corridors," Ginny explained. "They couldn't come in the girls' bathroom, so they sent me. Should've known it was Malfoy holding you up. What did he do?"

"Nothing," Hermione said honestly. "I tripped, and he broke my fall."

"Doesn't sound like the Malfoy _I_ know," Ginny replied, scrunching up her nose with distaste. "He's more likely to trip you and then _watch _you fall."

"Maybe he's changing," Hermione offered.

Ginny's jaw dropped. She plastered a palm against Hermione's brow, checking for fever. "I think that dementor _did _something to you. Your cheeks are all red, and your face is hot. Let's get some cool water on it; you'll feel better, I'm sure."

Hermione's cheeks were on fire, but she knew it had nothing to do with the dementor. The ghost of Malfoy's grey eyes was there still. She vaguely felt Ginny linking arms with her, wand still held aloft should any dementors happen by to upset her friend further.

ooo LL ooo

Malfoy himself was back in his compartment with Crabbe and Goyle. The ogrish boys had fallen asleep and were sawing lumber when Malfoy returned. He shook his head at the irksome pair.

_You'd think a Malfoy could find some better friends_, he thought with slight vexation. In the empty silence with only those two great lumps for company, and only a few more minutes to pass before they arrived at Hogwarts, Draco found himself pensive.

He shivered slightly, hoping the dementors wouldn't come back. When one had come to check his compartment, Crabbe and Goyle had mindlessly sat there like two overlarge salt and pepper shakers, but Malfoy could hear its voice in his mind. _Fear… I can taste your fear. Give me more of it. Feel your fear rise… remember_...

Suddenly his mind had flashed across every moment his father had raised his wand or his hand against him. Draco relived every backhanded slap, every hit of the cane, watching his mother take his pain for him as he tried to hide his face in the banister of the stairwell; all the terror he had ever felt, compounded into what could have been a second or a lifetime. Anxious to get away, he had run, accidentally happening on the Weasley twins, but he didn't care what they thought. No one should have to remember such terrible things.

Happily, there had been a distraction that made him forget the dementor: running into Granger. _Hermione_, he allowed himself to muse now, toying with the idea of calling her by her name. Her know-it-all tendency to quote every fact she'd ever read was annoying, yes, but aside from that she was exactly the sort of companion he needed but hadn't found in Slytherin House - intelligent, opinionated, unafraid of standing up to him. An equal.

_Too bad she couldn't have been born into a wizarding family, _Draco thought, frankly disappointed_. Then not even my father could object to our being friends._

Or was that all he wanted? He experienced an involuntarily frisson as he brought to mind what had almost happened just moments before. Something had stirred inside him that Draco Malfoy had never felt for any other girl.

_Something my father wouldn't exactly approve_. His stomach lurched. _This truce thing may not have been the best idea_, he forced himself to admit, biting his lip. But when he thought of giving it up…

"Hey, Draco!" Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson appeared in the compartment door frame, leering widely. "You'll never guess what we just heard. The dementors scared Potter so bad he fainted!"

Malfoy dithered a moment. _I'm not surprised_, he thought, _they scared me too_.

"Draco?" Blaise started, as Pansy glanced worriedly at him. Malfoy hesitating to make fun of Potter for anything was definitely odd behavior.

His trademark smirk, however, quickly brought dimples to the edge of his lips. "Fresh meat," he grinned, bringing them back to themselves. Blaise and Pansy started to cackle, waking Goyle and Crabbe.

"Are we there yet?" Crabbe wondered, yawning.

ooo LL ooo

Hermione was up late in the Gryffindor common room, fighting sleep. Crookshanks wasn't making it easy to stay awake. The large ginger cat was curled up in her lap, his rhythmic, contented purr lulling her into a daze.

She felt weary, but her disastrous encounter with Malfoy kept replaying in her mind, making it impossible to rest. It was becoming more and more apparent that her feelings toward him were changing from somewhat reluctant sympathy to an even more reluctant crush. She kept repeating their conversation in her mind, only they were never interrupted by Ginny, and his lips came down softly on hers… even the thought took her breath away.

_Hermione, don't be a fool, _her conscience told her as she snapped out of her reverie. _Even if he's not like his father, even if he has a heart of gold underneath that surly demeanor, you know better than to even think it. Malfoy told you the truth last year: this could never work. Not as a friendship. Not as anything else._

_Think, Hermione. Think of what happened just tonight, when you got back to school. Malfoy was egging Harry on, and you had to hold him back. Every time Malfoy starts on Harry and Ron, or the other way round, you'll have to be the one to keep the peace, and you can never tell them why. This truce has put you in an awkward enough position as it is. And what if you do end up liking him and he starts to like you back? At the very worst, his father could find out and kill you both. At the very best… you'd lose your two best friends forever. Is that a price you're prepared to pay?_

"This isn't fair," Hermione whispered into Crookshanks' fur.

_No, it isn't. But life seldom is._

The sound of the Fat Lady's portrait swinging shut brought her to her senses. She stood and looked around, but no one was there - only a silver tray had appeared on the table beside her, loaded with a china cup, a steaming kettle and the most delicious-looking -

"Tea and scones," Hermione gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. "Down, Crookshanks."

She leaned forward, barely noticing the bandy-legged cat thumping onto the carpet. A letter folded like a crane sat perched on the tray. Hermione started to reach for it, but the paper bird had been charmed to fly into her hand. Puzzled, she unfolded it, finding a hastily-written few lines scrawled within.

_As we can't exactly visit one another, I'm inviting you to join me in our respective common rooms for tea and scones. My treat. By the by - how was your summer?_

_Draco_

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. Who would have thought that Malfoy had such a rich sense of humor?

"Burning the midnight oil?"

Hermione inhaled sharply. She had thought everyone else was in bed…

Ginny was standing over the couch in a pair of orange pyjamas that clashed terribly against her red hair, holding Crookshanks in her arms and nuzzling his fur with her chin. "It's only our first day back, Hermione. _Relax_. Get some rest."

"I just thought I'd get a head-start on chapter reading for the term. I was getting ready to come to bed, though." She pretended to stifle a yawn.

Ginny snorted. Hermione wasn't fooling her. "Yeah, right. How many classes are you taking, anyway?"

"Oh… several," Hermione replied cautiously, hoping the golden chain that held the Time Turner was concealed beneath her blouse. "Enough to keep me occupied."

Ginny glanced down at the note in her hand. "What's that? Oooh… a love letter, maybe?"

Panicked, Hermione crumpled it up in her hand. "No, er… nothing."

"If you say so." Ginny shrugged it off, though she knew her friend was lying. "I meant to tell you earlier, Ron was worried when he left the Great Hall after supper and couldn't find you."

"Really? I suppose that's why he came to make sure a dementor hadn't come and caught me by myself," Hermione said derisively. The slight crush she had been developing on Ron the last two years was already growing stale. "Heroic, that."

"Ron doesn't always show what he's feeling," Ginny acknowledged with a sigh.

"Don't make apologies for him, Ginny. I've long accepted Ron for what he is, and what he isn't. He's the boy who doesn't know I exist until he has a paper due and he needs to copy off me or bribe me into doing the work for him. He wouldn't even be friends with me if Harry wasn't. I've always known that." Hermione glanced down at her tea and uneaten scones. She'd suddenly lost her appetite.

Ginny came over to sit beside her and gave her a swift hug. "Don't let him get to you, Hermione. One of these days he'll wake up and realize just how much of a prat he's been not to notice how wonderful you are. And in the meantime, if he does anything to hurt you, come tell me. Brother or not, I'll put one of my famous bat-bogey hexes on him. Okay?"

Hermione gave her a halfhearted smile. As Ginny hugged her again, she tucked Malfoy's note into her pocket, out of sight.

"Those look really good," Ginny said then, eyeing the scones with interest. "Can I have one?"

Hermione nodded. She could only hope that after their almost-kiss on the train, Draco hadn't raided Snape's storeroom and spiked them with Amortentia. She didn't want to be responsible for the disaster that would ensue if Ginny were to waltz around Gryffindor Tower professing her undying love for Malfoy.


	6. Sympathy for the Slytherin

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she was relieved to ascertain that not only was she perfectly normal, so was Ginny. For once, Malfoy hadn't done something underhanded to get his way. The tea and scones must have been a sincerely friendly gesture.

Still, it was all she could do to get through the next twenty-four hours and make certain she used the Time Turner properly, what with his presence in nearly every class distracting her. They kept to the terms of the truce and didn't speak, but Malfoy's eyes searched out her gaze whenever their paths crossed. What was worse, she found herself listening closely for every word he said - and taking it seriously. Like when he insulted Hagrid's choice of biting Monster books; Hermion found she couldn't disagree. She still had a nasty welt on her own finger from the blasted thing, which had bled when she'd been trussing it up with Spellotape to keep it shut. Still, _I used to always defend Hagrid_, she thought, _because he's our friend. But now... would I have ever dared to think before that he wasn't right about anything? I've never doubted a friend before this_... Verbally she agreed when Hagrid said they were funny, but inside, she still wondered if that were true.

And then, there was the incident with Buckbeak.

Hermione knew Malfoy had only insulted him to show off, thinking him harmless, but Buckbeak had knocked him to the ground, slashing his robes and sending spurts of blood out from Malfoy's arm. Hermione's heart almost stopped at that moment. In what seemed like slow motion, Hagrid was running towards Buckbeak, shouting words that were muffled to her ears, trying to stop the attack before the hippogriff killed him. It was as though everything had begun to move very slowly; though she could hear the shouts of the Slytherins in the background and the gasps of the Gryffindors, it was as though she were underwater, divided from them, somewhere far away, outside of even herself. With each screech and lunge of Buckbeak, she saw not the magical beast but Lucius, diving forward, his eyes full of hate. Draco was screaming, his words unintelligible; the red of his blood stained the ground. Without realizing it, she had pulled the Time Turner out from under her blouse, getting ready to use it.

_Remember the Law, Miss Granger. _McGonagall's voice echoed in her mind. _You must not be seen_.

_Damn_, Hermione thought, squeezing the golden object until she was afraid it might snap in her grip, _there are too many people around; someone is sure to see. But if I can't go back… what can I do to help him? I can't let him lay there and bleed to death_… Squinting her eyes shut, she leapt forward ahead of the rest and shouted, "Hagrid! He has to be taken to the hospital!"

Hagrid's great bearded head jerked around, as though he had forgotten all about Malfoy in his haste to get Buckbeak calmed down. He gave a quick nod, said something too muffled for her to hear but that seemed to assent, then lifted Malfoy's body into his arms.

Hermione leapt into action, rushing to open the gate. Hagrid carried him away, Pansy Parkinson following after like the dutiful girlfriend she would have been if Malfoy would have allowed it. It was all she could do not to go chasing after them that instant, push Pansy aside and hold his hand all the way there.

_No_, she told herself, trembling, _I can't. Harry would start asking questions… and if he asked one question too many… I couldn't lie to him, not even for Dumbledore_.

Still, she asked Harry if she thought Malfoy would be all right. Harry knew Madam Pomfrey could take care of it, and that comforted her somewhat. Her trust in the mediwitch's care was well-earned, as she'd been in the hospital wing twice herself only last year.

But once separated from the boys, Hermione sprinted towards the hospital wing. _Malfoy was jealous of Harry_, she realized as she ran, _that was why he did it_. _It may have been a stupid reason, but even Ron gets green with envy over all the attention Harry gets… and if his best friend can get jealous and act like a prat, I can't blame Malfoy for doing the same_.

She slunk back behind a gargoyle near the hospital wing entrance, hid until she saw Pansy Parkinson leaving with Crabbe and Goyle, then snuck inside.

The hospital wing was empty except for two patients - Malfoy, and a sleeping boy who seemed to have sprouted white rabbit ears and a twitching, whiskered nose - no doubt, a childish curse gone very wrong. Suddenly reminded of Alice in Wonderland, Hermione found herself wondering if he had a fluffy tail and a pocketwatch to match.

Draco was lying in the bed closest to the door, silver-grey eyes closed, his arm bandaged and held with a sling. Happy to find him alone, Hermione crept over and knelt down beside him.

"Malfoy," she whispered, "wake up. It's time for tea and scones."

A slow, if weak, smile spread across Draco's pale face. His eyes fluttered as he glanced over at her. "Evening, Granger. Couldn't stay away, eh?"

"In your dreams, Malfoy," she snorted, shaking her head. "I just came to make sure you were all right, so Hagrid wouldn't be in trouble."

Draco raised a discerning eyebrow. He knew it was a lie, but he also knew how important it was for her to keep her pride if they were to remain on speaking terms. In that respect, they were very much alike. "Oh, I see. Should have known it couldn't be concern over _me_. It's not as though we're _friends _or anything, right? You must be here to see the Easter Bunny over there."

Hermione's face twisted wryly; she took his meaning. "Don't be stupid, Malfoy. Of course I'm concerned. What possessed you to charge up to that hippogriff and insult it after Hagrid told you not to? Of all the foolhardy, irresponsible things to do -"

"Oh, don't let's talk about that, please," Draco beseeched, his free hand covering his face.

One corner of Hermione's mouth perked up into a surprised smirk. She had never heard him use the word 'please' before. For the sheer novelty of it, she let it go. "Just don't scare me like that again, all right?"

Malfoy lowered his hand, peeking behind his fingers with newfound curiosity. "Scare you? Better take care, Granger. What if I were to get the idea that you actually cared about me?"

Reddening, Hermione evaded the question. "What did Madam Pomfrey say?"

"Well, I won't _die _or anything," he admitted in a scarcely audible voice, "but you didn't hear that from me. I _do _have a reputation to keep. Besides, I like getting sympathy sweets."

"I'll bet," Hermione teased, shaking her head. Already, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle had delivered him a small mountain of sugar quills and Honeydukes chocolate. "Look at you, milking this for all it's worth. You're positively incorrigible. I don't know why I wasted time coming to see you."

His trademark simper spread across his face. "I've got a theory."

"Oh, really? Astonish me."

Draco laughed. "Not today, Granger. It's really a shame, though..."

"What is?"

That made him grin even harder. "Ooh-hoo! Look who's so impatient to know everything! Well it's too bad, because it's going to stay a secret until my arm is fully healed."

Hermione pouted. "Which will be how long - according to Madam Pomfrey?"

"A week or so," he shrugged. "Don't look so disappointed, Granger. It's only my arm that's gashed up, not my mouth."

"Pity," she taunted meanly, "you can still _talk_."

Draco feigned offense. "You came here to _talk_?"

Hermione's heart fluttered. "Did you think I had something else in mind?"

"No. I _know _you did." Propping himself up on his good elbow, Draco turned towards her, leaned close and gave her cheek a chaste brush of his lips. With childish innocence, he let them drift, barely feathering across her mouth, then opened his eyes to see how she'd reacted. Her wide brown eyes were shut, her lips curled into a sweet smile. "Uh-huh," he murmured, "I thought as much."

Hermione gave a wide-eyed blink. "Is that all?"

"I'm in the hospital wing, Granger!" he protested, falling back against the pillow. "You shouldn't be overtaxing my strength."

Hermione scoffed. "How much strength could _that _have taken?"

"Not to jerk you up here and show you what a _real _kiss feels like? Quite a bit, actually."

Hermione felt her cheeks growing warm. "Malfoy… isn't this truce-to-friendship thing moving a _little_ fast?"

Her embarrassment only added to his pleasure. Draco hadn't decided which he liked better - kissing her, or provoking her. Apparently, he had just done both. "Come on, it was nothing really. Don't go all soft on me."

"I am _not _going soft!" she was swift to reply. "Honestly, I'm a little upset with myself for what just happened."

"And you think I'm not?" Malfoy heckled. "I'm going against hundreds of years of Slytherin tradition, not to mention the likely possibility that if my father found out he'd kill me, to snog a - well, someone like you."

"And do you think my friends would overflow with well-wishes if they knew?" Hermione shot back. In her mind, she could just see the headlines that would hit the Daily Prophet: _Harry Potter Murders Best Friend: Claims She Was Under Imperius Curse_. _"Well, he knew there was no way in her right mind she'd kiss a Slytherin, let alone Malfoy," claims Ron Weasley, friend of the deceased._ "You said it last year, Malfoy: this won't work. All of our friends hate each other, and they expect us to be -"

"People we're really not."

"That's not true; I don't change myself for Harry or Ron -"

"Of course you do," he cut in, "unless you mean to tell me you like talking for hours about Quidditch when you don't play yourself, or that you enjoy spending hours doing work that isn't even yours to be done."

Hermione was stumped. It was one thing for her to have seen through him so clearly when she'd heard what she did from Dumbledore, but it was quite another for Malfoy to have seen through her all on his own.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "All right, then. As I was saying, I said what I said last year because, at the time, I wasn't sure I _wanted_ it to work. Not with the possibility of Father finding out, or any of our friends. But then I realized I wanted to be your friend anyway, Muggle-born or not, Gryffindor or not, possibly problematic or not - and when I asked myself why, the answer was easy."

"And what _was_ the answer?" she queried.

"You're not like everyone else."

"Oh?" Hermione blushed; it was quite a compliment to her. "Why?"

"Because I don't have to lie to you. You see who I am, who I _really_ am, when you take away the Malfoy money and reputation - and for whatever reason, you still want to be around me." He narrowed his eyes still further, until they were little grey slits. "But I'm starting to think you want me to give you some reason we can't be friends after all. Because you're afraid."

Hermione had already opened her mouth to reply to that, but Madam Pomfrey's skirts were already swishing hurriedly into the room. In her hands she carried a vile-looking phial of green potion that had a runny consistency and a foul odor not unlike rotten eggs.

"Time for your potion, Mr. Malfoy - oh! Another visitor?" She smiled at Hermione. "Better run along, dear, this won't be pleasant. The last time I tried to force this down him, he nearly cried, poor thing."

Draco shot her a dirty look.

Hermione bit her lip, determined not to laugh. It was hard to imagine a boy who'd grown hard from spending his childhood dodging dark curses from his father and just survived a hippogriff attack, whining over taking medicine. It must have been _really_ bad. "All right, then. Later, Malfoy."

Puzzled, Madam Pomfrey tilted her head. "Wasn't that Harry Potter's little friend, Miss Granger? Curious, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin being chums. Dumbledore should hear of this; he's always hoping the Houses will get along better -"

"No!" Draco panicked. The last thing he wanted the old mediwitch to do was go to Dumbledore with rumors of a friendship between him and Granger - or anyone else, for that matter. This truce was already dangerous enough, and more than difficult just to keep secret. "It's nothing like that. She brought me my Arithmancy homework."

"Oh, of course, dear," Madam Pomfrey clucked, clearly not believing a word he just said. "Now, I know it's a nasty business, but we must keep the infection out, so… open wide!"

As he leaned forward to accept the spoon in his mouth, golden hair tumbling forward, Poppy caught her breath. She had seen this before - that hair, the frame of the face - it may have been dark that night, but what she had seen was etched in her memory. _The boy that was in here last year, when - Hermione, Petrified - and it was her - and she was here to see - oh, my goodness_, _gracious_!

"What's wrong?" Draco asked after he'd swallowed a mouthful of the horrible stuff, seeing her wide-eyed expression.

"Oh, nothing that concerns you, dear; I just forgot I left a potion brewing for Jones over there," Madam Pomfrey lied, motioning to the rabbit-boy in the other bed. "I've got to get it off the burner. Excuse me."

But when she'd bustled into the back room where she kept the potions, she put her back to the wall, trying to catch her breath and make her heart stop pounding. She didn't take shocks like this as well as she had when she was a girl.

_Dumbledore has to hear about this_, she thought, hurrying to her desk to scratch out a note. _A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, friends! And not just anyone, but Harry Potter's best friend and worst enemy! Who would have imagined it_? _Perhaps there's a little more hope in the world than I thought…_


	7. Objections Overruled

Minerva McGonagall walked briskly down the corridor toward Dumbledore's office, the heels of her shoes clacking fiercely with each step. She reached the gargoyle that marked the doorway and tersely muttered the password for this week, "Sugar Babies," rolling her eyes as she did so. _Albus and his fancy for Muggle sweets_, she thought as she ascended the winding staircase, shaking her head.

Arriving at the oak doorway that led into Dumbledore's office with its high circular ceilings and polished wood, McGonagall started to step inside, but the sound of what might have been an argument gave her reason to pause. There was a raised voice, insistent and slightly breathless, arguing with Dumbledore's ever-calm and placid tone.

" - _couldn't believe it_, I tell you! The selfsame boy who used to call her a Mudblood, and they were sitting there talking as though they'd been brought up together from birth! I tell you, Albus, I don't know what to think - is it some kind of _spell _that's responsible for all this hullabaloo?"

"I am sure neither he nor her cursed nor charmed one another, Poppy," Dumbledore was saying, although now with an edge to his voice. "I am sure it is all very innocent. And I appreciate your telling me all this, though now I must ask a favor of you - you must never repeat what you have just told me to anyone else."

"But Albus, I've been thinking. At first I wanted to believe it _was _as innocent as it looked; that a Slytherin and a Gryffindor _could _be friends, for no ulterior reason at all. What a ray of hope it would be in these uncertain times, with You-Know-Who trying to come back and Sirius Black on the loose! But… what if it _isn't _what it seems? What if it's a cruel joke he's playing, as those Slytherins are like to do, and he means to hurt poor little Miss Granger -"

"_Who _means to hurt Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked tartly, stepping fully into the room. She hadn't wanted to interrupt, but at the mention of her favorite student possibly being in trouble, she'd had to step in. Madam Pomfrey gasped, and Dumbledore inclined his silver-bearded head slightly.

"No one," the headmaster replied firmly, the look on his face precluding either of the two women from speaking just now. "We will speak of this no more. Poppy, I must insist that you promise to do as I have asked and tell no one what you have seen. The thought of such a thing may be a comfort to us, but there are others who would be angered by it - even spurred to a course of action that might be devastating. No. We must keep our silence, for the children's sakes."

The mediwitch pressed her lips together and twitched her nose slightly, inwardly recognizing that she hadn't considered the implicit danger in revealing such information and feeling a little reproved. "As you wish, Albus."

Seeing her genuine concern, he softened, and put a hand on her shoulder. "I know you mean well, Poppy. I give you my word that I will look into this matter personally, and do whatever needs to be done myself. Will that satisfy you?"

She nodded quickly. "I _do _trust you, you know."

"And I trust you," Dumbledore smiled, patting her shoulder and then releasing her. "Thank you, Poppy. I shall give the matter my immediate attention."

With a tight-lipped smile to McGonagall, who arched an eyebrow at her from underneath her tartan hat, Madam Pomfrey dismissed herself from the room. McGonagall took that as her cue to step forward, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"You have no intentions of telling me what all that was about, Albus?" the head of Gryffindor House asked, tapping her toe impatiently.

"Regretfully, no, I do not," Dumbledore replied, suddenly sounding very tired. "At least, not at the present moment. You must accept that I intend only for the best, and that I will not allow any harm to come to Hermione Granger, if it can at all be prevented."

"Oh, Albus!" McGonagall cried then, throwing her hands up in the air and pacing about. "For heaven's sake, when are you going to stop carrying each and every burden of this school on your own? When are you going to realize that you can trust me to help bear some of it for you, or with you? I want to help! I know _I _couldn't do it all on my own, and I can't bear to think of how you must be overtaxing yourself -"

Dumbledore caught her in midstep, taking her hand in his so gently that it caught her by surprise. The warmth of such a human touch felt strange and alien to her hand, but she did not pull away. McGonagall looked up into the wise blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, seeing a rare softness there instead of the usual rosy-cheeked merriment. "Peace, Minerva," he murmured. "Your concern over me is appreciated, but unnecessary."

"Nonsense," McGonagall replied, though her usual terseness of voice had given way to a softer, slightly grittier form of speech. "You look after everyone in this school, and you do an admirable job. But Albus, who looks after _you_?"

For once in his long life, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was speechless.

McGonagall slowly withdrew her hand from his, and without looking back up at him walked out of his office. Whatever she had come to tell him was long since forgotten.

ooo LL ooo

In class the following Thursday, Draco Malfoy stuck out his tongue and made a face. He could swear he still tasted the wretched anti-infection potion, but he would have swallowed a whole bucketful of it if the owl that had come during lunch had been for another student instead of him.

_Your father is coming this afternoon to check on you_, it said in his mother's writing. _I gave him the message that you were all right, but you know him, things must be done his way. Write to me soon. I miss you. Hoping you're well._

Malfoy cringed. He didn't know who had informed them about Buckbeak's attack on his arm, but whoever it was had done him no favors. Nothing good could come of Lucius Malfoy coming to visit. Draco's hands were sweaty, his heart pounding with dread. Every minute that ticked by on the clock was like an eternity.

Meanwhile, Hermione was ignoring him. Like the wretched little bookworm she was, she had again started hanging onto the professors' every word and taking meticulous notes. Her friends took it as a good sign, that the old Hermione was coming back. Draco couldn't have been more depressed. It was as though she had forgotten him completely.

She let him suffer in silence until Arithmancy, when she slipped him a note. Knowing that Vincent Crabbe could barely read, he wasn't worried about the odd look his cohort was giving him from the chair to his left. He needn't have fretted anyway; Hermione had cleverly written in code. He opened it with fervor, reading:

_The Tea & Scones Society will meet in the library at 6:30 tonight. Be there! _

_Signed, Madam Pince's "Assistant" Librarian_

Draco glanced over at Hermione, making sure to scowl in case anyone was watching, and nodded. He'd be there. Even if he had to stop time in its tracks or use _Petrificus Totalus _on his father, he'd be there.

ooo LL ooo

Hermione checked her watch again. 6:45.

_Where is he_? She knew he wouldn't stand her up on purpose; his face had been positively beaming when she had passed him that note. She was getting ready to leave when Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode came in. Hermione lowered her head and pretended to be absorbed in her Charms book, but listened carefully to their conversation.

"Poor Draco," Pansy was saying, "his arm really is in a bad way. Oh, that oaf of a gamekeeper! It's all _his _fault! Draco's being brave, of course, but now his father's here he'll straighten out that Hagrid, just you wait."

_Lucius… here_? Hermione's heart sank. Draco wouldn't be coming tonight. She worried about him, but reasoned surely Malfoy's father wouldn't do anything rash while he was inside Hogwarts. _And if I know Lucius, Draco's injury is just an excuse. That man lives to make trouble for everyone else. He has something up his sleeve; I'm sure of it_ _- and it probably has to do with Hagrid_. _Whatever it is, it can't be good_. Resigning herself to a lonely evening of schoolwork, she collected her papers from the table and started out the door.

A snaking hand grabbed her and pulled her to the left. Her head was still spinning as she looked up into the silver pools of Draco's eyes, which were glowing.

"You're late," she admonished him, though with a dreamy smile.

"Sorry. My father just left," he explicated with regret. "Come with me. I know somewhere we can talk."

Careful to make sure no one was looking, he took her hand in his free one, guiding her through a series of back hallways to an empty classroom that looked as though it hadn't been used in years. "Care to do the honors?"

"Sure. _Alohomora_," Hermione said, pointing her wand at the lock. It promptly turned, then the two went inside and closed the door behind them.

It was dark inside, and only a few slitted windows gave them light enough to see by. Hermione could see the outlines of bare desks and empty bookshelves. "_Lumos_," she incanted, the tip of her wand glowing. "It's so… empty. Whatever did they use this room for?"

"History of Magic, I think." Malfoy gave a one-armed shrug and toyed with his sling. "Not glamorous, but it is private."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. "You have secrets to tell me?"

Draco shook his head. "Not today. I just wanted to talk to you."

"Just talk?" Hermione chuckled, still looking around the room. "Like we talked in the hospital wing, you mean?"

She heard his footsteps; he was coming to join her. "Would you mind?" he asked then, his whisper sounding very close behind her. She felt his fingers in her hair, examining its slightly coarse texture.

Hermione turned and looked at him, brown eyes wide and searching. For a moment they simply stood there, staring at each other in disbelief. Then he leaned forward and kissed her, softly, chastely. Heart pounding, Hermione stepped closer, taking his free hand in hers and kissing him back. It was an awkward moment; each could feel the other's hesitation and mistrust; each knew the risk, even if they had found someplace relatively undisturbed. A quiet moment passed after they had stopped, their hands squeezing firmly together. About what had just happened, nothing needed to be said; the objections had been made, and obviously overruled.

Hermione chose to break the silence, needing to know. "So what happened? With your father, I mean. Why was he here?"

Malfoy's face fell. "Madam Pomfrey sent him an owl. Apparently it's standard procedure when a student has a mishap that the parents have to be informed. She told him about what happened in Hagrid's class."

Fear gripped her. She knew all too well what happened when someone angered Lucius Malfoy. "Oh, Draco, I was afraid of that. What did he say?"

"What do you think? That Hagrid ought to be fired, and that something had to be done about that giant bloody chicken. I believe his exact words were, '_Heads will roll for this._'"

For once, fear for Hagrid outweighed her concern for Draco. "And you? What did _you _say?"

"What does it matter?" Malfoy asked bitterly.

"It matters to _me_!" Hermione insisted. "Did you agree with him?"

"So what if I did?" He took his hand away, taking a few steps back from her before daring to look her way again. "You know I don't like Hagrid the way you do."

Her voice cracked. "So you mean to tell me you _want _Hagrid fired? Over what amounts to _your _mistake?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. He didn't dare disagree that his injury was his own fault, but he also knew what she did - that it wasn't really the cause for Lucius's arrival at all. Draco wasn't stupid; he dared not flatter himself to think that his father cared if he got hurt. "Hermione, even if I did, it wouldn't matter. My father is going to do what he wants to do no matter what I say. He _never _listens to me. If Father wants Hagrid fired and that hippogriff put down, he has the power to make it happen, and even if I got on my knees and begged - which I _don't _mean to do - it wouldn't be of any use."

Hermione groaned, blinking hard to fight back tears. "It just isn't _fair_! Why does he always have to be there to ruin everything?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, confused. "What? Who?"

"Your _father_! First he attacks Ginny, then tries to kill Harry, then I find out he's been hurting _you_, and now this -" Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. Now she had _really _done it.

"What do you mean, '_he's been hurting me_?'" There was a terse, biting silence before Malfoy shouted, "Well? _Out with it_!"

Hermione shuddered. She had never seen him so angry. Subconsciously, she reached for her wand. "Malfoy, you're frightening me."

"Oh, so it's _Malfoy _now, is it?" His face was devoid of the loving, if cautious and strained, look he had borne only minutes earlier. When he spoke again, his voice was a barely audible, yet infinitely livid whisper. "That's why you wanted this truce, isn't it? Because you felt _sorry _for me. Not because you actually wanted to be my friend, let alone… I should have known."

Glowering, he started towards the door, but she caught his arm.

"Malfoy, wait!"

His grey eyes were razor sharp. "What for? So you can win Gryffindor house points by being noble to the poor little Slytherin whose father hexes him? Spare me."

"You've got it all wrong," Hermione replied, frustrated. "When I found out… well, I can't lie, I did pity you at first. But now I…" Her voice trailed off.

Draco scowled. "You can't even _say _it, can you? You probably thought this would be a real laugh for you and Potter to have at my expense: Malfoy, pride of the purebloods, in a Mudblood's thrall. Well, you've had your fun, so laugh it up, Granger. Go on, _laugh_!"

By this time tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. "No! It's not like that at all. If you would just listen to me -"

"I've heard all I care to hear." He yanked his arm away and tried to turn a second time. "Damn it, you filthy little Mudblood, let me go!"

This time, however, Hermione was ready for it. Bucking up every bit of nerve she had inside her, she drew him round and kissed him full on the lips, knocking him nearly senseless. Preteen hormones won out, and Draco leaned into her, hungry for the show of affection.

After a moment she drew back, searching his eyes. "Now, will you trust me?"

Draco had to breathe and steady himself before he was able to reply. "No. Not until you say it."

"Say _what_? That I fancy you? Honestly, would I have kissed you like that if I didn't?" Hermione shook her head, her heart still pounding. Even _she _could scarcely believe she'd done it.

Arching a blond eyebrow, Malfoy faltered. "I still want to hear you say it. But only if it's true."

Hermione vacillated. The words seemed so trite, so unworthy of the bizarre situation in which they'd found themselves, but she had no choice. "I wish I could say it wasn't. It'd be easier on both of us, I think. But I _do _fancy you, Malfoy. Merlin knows _why_, but I do."

Draco exhaled deeply, as if relieved. "Just like a Gryffindor; you couldn't lie with a straight face if your life depended on it. Normally I'd find that bothersome, but right now…" He leaned forward, his forehead resting on hers. "All right, I believe you. So tell me how you found out. About my father, I mean."

"I can't," Hermione whispered, "and don't look at me like that; it's not because I don't want to. Someone overheard your father trying to curse you once, and I overheard that person telling someone else about it. That someone else made me promise not to tell."

Draco's eyes widened in alarm. "Is it Potter?"

"No. He doesn't know and I won't tell him, or anyone else. That was a condition of the promise I made. So please, don't ask me to tell you any more, because I really can't."

"You're sure it's a secret?"

"I told you, yes."

"All right, then. I suppose that's all I need to know for now." Draco was silent for a moment. "No, wait. There's still one question I have to ask you. Do you think…that is, are you ashamed to be with me?"

Hermione recoiled at the suggestion. "Why should I be?"

The blond Slytherin shrugged, kicking a toe against the floor. He suddenly looked like a little boy. "You don't think it makes me… weak?"

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Draco, _no_. You've faced the horror of your own father trying to curse you, and still you keep going every day, hiding your pain from everyone. How could you _be _any stronger?"

Draco's lower lip quivered. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have said it," she assured him firmly.

A moment of silence passed. Then, without any warning, Draco sprang forward and enveloped her in a one-armed embrace that was half release, half quiet desperation. Surprised at the warm feeling flooding through her chest, Hermione wound her arms around his middle, letting him hold her and draw from her strength. Had any of the ghosts chosen to drift through that room, they might have seen a rare and beautiful sight - two young hearts finding a solace and understanding in one another that no one else had been able to give - and in sharing both their pain and their healing in that single moment, awakening a bond between them that was stronger than they could know. Fate was kind, however, and they were left blissfully alone.

For a long moment they held each other, each trembling to the core. At last Draco let her go, but it was clear that he did not want to.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, still shivering, "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," Hermione murmured back, nodding slowly. She didn't know why, but tears had begun to slide slowly down her cheeks.

"This is crazy," he ventured then, giving a shaky laugh. "No one would ever believe this."

Hermione conceded the point. "I know. We used to hate each other, and now we're -"

"Snogging like a couple of lovebirds?" Draco sniggered with her. "I know. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Positively shameful. We should stop." Hermione took a lock of his white-blond hair between her fingers, learning its silky-smooth texture by heart. "But I don't want to."

"Me neither." Feeling a sense of safety rush over him, Draco held her again, needing her nearness. He didn't know why, but Hermione had a way of making him forget that anything or anyone else existed.

"I didn't know this was going to happen, you know," he murmured then. "I thought it was just going to be a truce."

Hermione looked up worriedly. "Are you sorry for it?"

"Are you kidding?" Draco cupped her face with his free hand. "You're the first real friend I've ever had. Do you know that?"

Although she had suspected as much, she never would have said so. "It's too bad we can't be open about this."

"I know." His face fell. "Listen, sooner or later we're going to run into each other when someone else is looking on, and well… I just wanted you to know, even if I seem nasty to your face, I don't really mean it. It's just pretend. All right?"

Hermione affirmed this with a nod. "Same here. I suppose there's no avoiding it, is there?"

Malfoy drunk in the sight of her; in the half-light of the dark, empty classroom, she looked almost angelic. Was this the Mudblood he'd thought he hated so much? What had changed, to make him see her in a different light?

_That's easy_, his heart told him, twinging as she kissed his cheek goodbye. _You stopped seeing her through your father's eyes, and started seeing her with yours_.


	8. Aunt Hesty

Malfoy hastened up to the Owlery, heart pounding as he raced up the stairs two at a time. He felt he could have sprouted wings and flown if he'd dared. Hatred and resentment had only filled a tiny part of him by comparison to the giddy sentiment that was now overwhelming his senses; knowing that Hermione _knew_, and that it was all right, made him feel truly complete. No longer would he be alone and afraid in his dreadful secret. He had a _friend_, a real, true, honest-to-goodness friend, someone to turn to if ever he had the need.

He had _her_.

All his life, he'd been groomed to be the Malfoy heir, a miniature of his father - rich, ruthless and cruel. But his heart had never been in it. For his own safety, he had dutifully played the part. Until now. Someone had finally seen what was truly inside him, and wanted to be close to him, for that reason and no other. For one brief, shining moment, he felt that anything was possible.

Glancing around to make certain he was alone, he opened the letter once more and skimmed it over.

_Dear Mother,_

_My arm is much better. Classes are going well. I miss you, too. And… I fancy someone. Don't tell Father, but I wanted you to know. I love you and hope you're well. _

_Draco_

_There_, he thought, _that's not saying too much_. He wasn't entirely certain how Narcissa Malfoy would feel about his having a Mudblood girlfriend, but he had to tell _someone_, and of all his friends, family and acquaintances, she seemed the least likely to fling a curse at him once the secret was out.

_Girlfriend_, he mused then, recalling the taste of her lips, enjoying the last of the warm feeling that still tingled in his hands from where they'd touched. He was glad Potter wasn't anywhere nearby. In his current state of languor, a pinky finger's push could have toppled him over the ledge.

ooo LL ooo

Hestia Jones glanced around the hospital wing uncertainly, taking a few steps forward. She saw her young charge, but no one in authority to speak with about releasing him. The short, curvy, raven-haired witch paused a moment, not wanting to intrude. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

"Just a moment!" came a kind, if a little frazzled, older woman's voice. Madam Pomfrey came swishing forward from the back room, her smile wide and welcoming. "Hello, Miss Jones! We've been expecting you. Haven't we, Henry?"

Henry Jones, a first-year Ravenclaw, grinned broadly as he saw his young maiden aunt coming towards him. "Aunt Hesty!"

She grinned down at Henry and waved. "Hey!"

"He's been so excited to hear you'd returned from abroad and were coming to visit," Madam Pomfrey related, "I've heard nothing for days but 'Aunt Hesty' this, 'Aunt Hesty' that! So, all those years in America! Do you miss it now you've come home to England?"

"I do. Oh, it was wonderful," Hestia returned easily, "it's so _different _over there. So relaxed and fun. I just finished my internship in the library at the Salem Institute, and I decided to come stay at home while I look for a job. I have to say, I'll miss being a Yank - but there are compensations. I really did miss my family." A slight sadness tinged her merry eyes.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck in finding employment," Madam Pomfrey said.

"Thanks. I'm gonna go hug my boy now. _Henry_!" Hestia grinned, her rosy cheeks framing a nearly perfect smile, made all the sweeter by the fact that it was clearly genuine. She raced to his bedside and hugged him close, growling playfully, as though she were the younger of the two. "No more ears and dodgy little nose, I take it?"

As if in reply, Henry pulled on his real ears in a silly fashion, making a face at her. Hestia laughed. "At least I'm all alone now. That mean blond boy kept making fun of me. He called me the Easter Bunny and kept asking why I wouldn't give him any candy."

Aunt Hestia raised a brow, smirking. "And did you tell him it was because he'd been a naughty boy and didn't deserve any?"

"No," Henry sighed, looking down at his lap, "I was afraid he'd beat me up."

Hestia glanced back at Madam Pomfrey, who shrugged. "Well, don't you worry. If anybody tries to beat up my favorite little nephew, I'll -" She made a fist and slammed it into the other one, at which Madam Pomfrey jumped back a little. "_Beat 'em back_. Haha! What?" she asked the older witch innocently, smiling her disarming smile once more.

Madam Pomfrey grinned back, laughing a little nervously, then mumbled something about Henry's being free to go back to his dormitory at any time and how she needed to get back to her potion-labeling. _Americans_, Hestia thought she heard the old mediwitch murmur as she left, shaking her white-capped head.

"Some of these witches and wizards around here are way too uptight about that kind of thing," Hestia shrugged. "A Muggle punch is a lot nicer than getting hit with most curses, believe you me. They do it a lot more over in America. Here everyone's so afraid of - " she made a dry, long face and pretended as though her finger and thumb were a monocle over her eye - "_offending societal behavior_."

Henry chuckled, then paused. "Have you ever been in a fight, Aunt Hesty?"

She blinked back at him. "Well, no. Nobody ever fights with me because I'm too nice - and apparently too boring." She gave him a facetious look.

"Aunt Hesty, you're so silly," Henry grinned, reaching for her once more. "I'm glad you're back."

"Oh, me too. I've missed you," she exclaimed then, hugging him again. "Listen, do you really think this little blond miscreant is going to hurt you? Because seriously, I'll talk to whoever's in charge about it; I don't care to do it."

"No," Henry sighed, "that's okay. He may not be that mean anyway, not really. Some girl came to visit him; they were talking and it woke me up. She seemed really nice, and he wasn't so bad when she was around. I think she was his girlfriend. She kind of reminded me of you."

"Oh really? You mean she had my charming sense of humor?" Hestia blinked her lashes frivolously.

"No… but she seemed like she was really _smart_. She got annoyed with him when he would act stupid. Just like you get mad at people when they act dumb."

"Hmm. I'd probably like her." Hestia heard movement behind her, and turned to see a wizard standing just behind her.

He was tall and dressed all in black, his sallow face nearly hidden beneath a lengthy expanse of hair as dark as her own wavy tresses were. He stared at her for a moment without speaking. _Sort of handsome, in a dark, brooding older man kind of way_, Hestia appraised thoughtfully. _Not bad_. Because she was looking back at him, she didn't see Henry flinching into her back and hiding behind her.

"Um… hi?" Hestia offered, smiling and nodding as though encouraging him to talk. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Madam Pomfrey," the wizard in black replied, his voice deep and as dark as his manner. "Visiting family, are you?"

The young witch nodded. "I'm Hestia Jones, and this is my nephew Henry. Are you one of the professors here?" Vaguely, she felt Henry poking her in the back. "Henry, cut it out."

"I am," he replied. "Severus Snape, Potions Master."

"Pleased to meet you," she offered brightly, standing and holding out her little hand. He stared at it a moment, as though unsure if she were holding a buzzer from Zonko's Joke Shop and meant to zap him with it. "They're clean, I promise," she said then, taking his hand in hers and shaking it as her smile grew broader. "Madam Pomfrey went back that way, I think."

Henry watched in disbelief as a very nonplussed Professor Snape nodded slowly, then glanced back at his aunt Hestia. "Thank you, Miss Jones."

"Not a problem," she grinned as he walked back toward Madam Pomfrey's potion-room. "What a nice guy. Little shy, though. Ah, well, I used to be too. Lucky for me, living in America got me over that."

"Aunt Hesty, are you crazy?" Henry almost exploded. "I mean, okay, you _are_, but seriously - that's Professor Snape! He's the meanest teacher at Hogwarts! Everybody hates him!"

"Really? Bummer." Hestia made a face. "I always like the bad ones. Just my luck. And if my luck holds true, he's probably gay or married, to boot." She sighed dramatically. "I hate my life."

ooo LL ooo

Halloween had finally arrived. Thanks to the ill will of the Dursleys and their refusal to sign his permission slip, Harry would be unable to go to Hogsmeade. That meant Ron and Hermione would be going together…_alone_.

Hermione cringed at the thought of it. His insults to Crookshanks were getting on her last nerve. They were still fighting over whether the ginger cat had been "after" Scabbers, and even without the quarrelling over their pets, their exchange was minimal.

The two friends trudged through the blustery chill in virtual silence, moving from store to store without saying more than a few words. Jaded with his company after only an hour, Hermione wondered how she could have had such a huge crush on him in the first place. Ron offered neither Harry's wit and easy laughs nor Malfoy's intensity and clever sarcasm. Every now and again he would offer random commentary, like "New brooms out, wicked," or "Oh, look, it's Madam Rosmerta - _huhuh_."

Hermione would nod and go on, but she was beginning to get a little weary of his lack of intelligent conversation. When the wind got even more blustery and carried whirling dry leaves past them, she pulled her scarf up over her nose, glad for an excuse not to have to carry on a one-sided discussion. She found herself remembering what Malfoy had said, about having to change who she was in order to be with Harry and Ron. At the time, the thought had made her defensive. Now, however, she saw more clearly the truth of it. _I wonder if this is how he felt when I saw through him_, she pondered, feeling a little gloomy.

"Honeydukes next?" Ron asked as they came near the door.

Hermione mutely nodded, unsurprised when Ron didn't even hold the door for her, letting it rebound in her face. _No manners whatsoever_. _Harry wouldn't be so thoughtless_, she thought, rolling her eyes. _Merlin's beard, why couldn't I have just fallen for Harry instead?_

_You probably would have, if you hadn't been friends with Ginny and found out she wanted him herself_, a voice in her head said slyly. _Ever the faithful friend - denying your own needs so others can be happy. But all in all, things haven't turned out so bad, have they_?

_Fair enough_, Hermione thought with a secret smile, remembering the secret first meeting of the Tea & Scones Society and feeling a little shiver creep through her that had nothing to do with the weather.

Breaking away from Ron, she wandered down this aisle and that, wishing Harry was there. The two boys were her only real friends, apart from Ginny and her newfound, still-to-be-defined relationship with Malfoy. Feeling estranged from one made her miss the other even more when he wasn't around. She had looked forward to these Hogsmeade visits for over two years now. Without Harry, however, it was unbelievably dull. She almost found herself wishing to happen upon Neville, just to have someone to talk to.

Picking up a sugar quill and taking it to the counter, along with a basketful of sweets she had chosen to take back to Harry, she cast a petulant glance at Ron. A few Chocolate Frogs in his hands, he was wistfully eyeing all the candy he wanted but couldn't afford and was too proud to ask for. Hermione shook her head, feeling utterly disillusioned, then promptly paid and strode out the door.

"Well, look who it is," a warm and slightly mocking voice called from behind. "All right there, bookworm?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Malfoy leaned up against the window, looking strangely woodsy in a fur cap, his arms crossed over his chest. "Oh. Hello, Malfoy."

Draco could tell she wasn't happy; more by the fact that she hadn't tried to rebuff him than by her hurt expression. He rose and came alongside her, putting aside for once his scornful simper and giving her a genuine look of concern. "Making the tour alone, then? I know Potter's stuck at Hogwarts, but why did the Weasel King abandon you?"

Hermione sighed. Whether or not she was getting tired of Ron's inconsiderate behavior, it still hurt to think about him. She was over her crush, but the division in her heart between her and Ron was even more bruising. It left her with one best friend instead of two.

"If you must know, _I_ abandoned _him_. And I'd really rather he not catch up to me, if it's all the same to you, so -" She set off at a brisk trot and left Malfoy struggling to keep pace. "Well, what about you? Where are the two brainless barbarians?"

"I was waiting on them to come out of Honeydukes," Draco admitted, "should've known those two bottomless pits would never come out of there willingly."

Though Ron had left her in a foul mood, Hermione couldn't help but grin. "My, what charmed lives we do lead."

"I know," Malfoy said, snickering. "Listen, what do you say we play hooky today?"

Hermione gave him a questioning glance. "We're not at school, Malfoy."

"I didn't mean skip classes. I meant skip the usual company. We could spend the rest of the day together." At her raised eyebrow, he amended, "That is, if you're game."

Slowly, a smile spread across her face. Malfoy's mordant wit and warm kisses were just what she needed to liven up a thus-far dreary day - and get her over her dark thoughts about Ron. "You mean you don't mind openly spending the day with a Mud-"

"That's _Muggle-born_," Draco joked, "language, Granger! And if I minded, I wouldn't have asked."

She turned serious for a moment. "You're not afraid someone will see us talking and get suspicious?"

"We'll keep it low-key," he replied, nodding as if to convince himself more than her. "Just keep an eye out, and if anyone looks at us too strangely, we'll make it look like we just ran into one another, start fighting really loudly and go our separate ways. Agreed?"

"I guess that could work," she grinned, shrugging. "All right, yes."

He smiled, arching a brow at her. "Yes? I heard a yes? Yes yes yes?"

"_Yes_!" she laughed brightly, her smile broadening and turning her cheeks pink. "Come on. What do you want to do?"

"Well, first, get something warm to drink, because I'm freezing," he declared, "then, if you like, we could go see the Shrieking Shack. Up for it?"

"Absolutely. They say it's meant to be -"

"The most haunted house in Britain," Malfoy finished excitedly, "I know. But that's only half its appeal."

"What's the other half?"

"Privacy."

Hermione halted in midstep, highly offended. "Look, Malfoy, if you think I'm going to -"

"Oh, God, I didn't mean it _that _way!" he cried, taking her drift. "I just meant it was somewhere we could go without having to worry about someone seeing us, asking too many questions."

"Oh. Well, that's all right then." Exhaling with relief, she gave a nervous laugh, one he joined her in. "This is going to be touch-and-go, isn't it?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't mind that so much."

Hermione could only shake her head at him. "Really? It doesn't make you the least bit nervous that someone could see us out here, _together_?"

Just for that, Malfoy linked his arm through hers and gave her a defiant grin. "Of course not. If anyone says anything, we'll just make up some outrageous lie. Between the two of us, we should be clever enough to think of something _good_."

Hermione faltered. "I don't know, Malfoy… I thought you said I couldn't lie to save my life."

"Then I will. Come on, where's your sense of adventure, Granger? Don't you think the risk makes it just a little more fun?" Draco laughed as she mouthed '_No_!' "Come on. It's like the thrill you get when you skip your first class, or sneak out of the house. It's exciting because you know you could get caught, but then… you don't."

"I don't think I could _ever _skip class," Hermione supposed, as though the very notion terrified her.

"Probably not. Gryffindor honor and all that rot," Malfoy agreed.

Hermione bumped into his side, hitting the shoulder that Buckbeak had knocked out of place.

"Ow! That still smarts, Granger." He unlinked their arms, twisting his shoulder around until it cricked.

"Really? Harry thinks you're faking so you won't have to play Quidditch against him," Hermione said seriously.

Malfoy groaned. "Oh, I see how it is. Dementors attack him and don't actually touch him; he falls, everyone feels sorry for him. Hippogriff attacks me, actually makes contact and gets me bleeding -"

"All right, enough!" she half-laughed, shaking her head. "I get the point. But I _did _come see you in the hospital, didn't I?"

"You did. Because you're _sweet_." He gave her a look that made her shiver and breathe a little harder. "And I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." She paused in the square, looking around. "Well, where are we getting drinks? Madam Rosmerta's?"

"No, Madam Puddifoot's." He pointed to a very lace-and-china sort of tea shop that looked like somewhere old ladies would frequent for garden club meetings.

"Are you serious?" Hermione asked, curling her lip in distaste. "I've heard of that place. That's where all the _couples _go!"

"Exactly," Draco reasoned, "it'll be all older students in there, snogging and whatnot, and no one will pay attention to either of us."

"I don't know," she replied uncertainly.

"If it's too lame we can always leave," he pointed out. With that, they arrived and Draco promptly held open the door for her. "After you."

She beamed. _Now that, Ron, is how it's done_, she thought with a satisfied smile.

ooo LL ooo

**_A/N: The introduction of Hestia Jones isn't random, I promise. I wanted to bring her character into the story, and show her connection to someone else who now knows Draco and Hermione's secret (her little nephew Henry). She will be much more involved as the story progresses. In the books, we've only glimpsed the introduction of her character (in OOTP) briefly as a new member of the Order of the Phoenix, who is a "pink-cheeked, black-haired witch." Since thus far we know nothing else about her, I'm taking creative liberties about how I'd like her character to be portrayed so she adds a different flavor the story. Hope you like her, as we'll be seeing more of her later!_**

**_And to all those reading and reviewing, thanks so much and I love you:-)_**


	9. Butterbeer and Privacy

Once inside Madam Puddifoot's shop, Hermione cast a wary glance around. Lacy tablecloths were draped over each table, set with arrangements of pink roses and baby's breath and delicate porcelain china. The wallpaper was a pale pink toile pattern, the curlicue lighting fixtures had golden cupids and cherubs with smiling faces adorning them, and the place smelled heavily of rose and lavender. Hermione's nose twitched, curling one side of her lip upwards in distaste. "Just remember, Draco, this was _your _idea," she reminded him in a singsong voice.

"Trust me," he murmured, steering her inside.

Draco had been right - no one paid them the least bit of mind. Besides the usual crowd of elderly Hogsmeade witches playing bridge, most of whom looked batty and half-blind, there were four couples there, all sixth and seventh years. Hermione didn't recognize a face among them, and they all seemed too googly-eyed to care that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin had just walked in together. _And perhaps they might not even know_, Hermione realized, _we _are _wearing regular clothes today and not our House colors, and Draco's dead-giveaway blond hair _is _covered by that ridiculous hat... _She took a deep breath, calming herself a little.

"Told you," Draco triumphed, finding a table for them in the very back. "No one would ever think to look for either of us in here, and in the meantime we can get warm. The perfect place to meet without taking the trouble to go incognito."

"I have to hand it to you," Hermione admitted, the relief starting to settle in, "this was pretty clever."

Draco leaned back and raised his chin, arrogance taking over as he basked in the glow of her praise.

A large, rounded shadow fell over the table. Hermione and Draco looked up to see a plump woman of about sixty, hair knotted up in a bun, dressed head to toe in pink with a lace shawl held together in the front by a cameo pin. The two were purposefully not looking at one another, knowing if their eyes met it would end in raucous laughter.

"What can I get for you two sweethearts?" Madam Puddifoot asked, giving them an overly sugary smile.

Hermione cupped a hand in front of her face, hiding as though she wanted to crawl under the table. She was really trying to hide just so the woman couldn't get a good look at her and associate the two, but he interpreted it as timidity.

Draco glanced over at her with a flippant smirk. "Butterbeer all right, _darling_?"

Behind her hand, she made a face at him, but nodded yes.

"She's so _shy_, isn't she? Of course, I think it's precious." Malfoy's grey eyes glittered with the secret joke. "A butterbeer each for me and the lady, then."

As Madam Puddifoot bustled away to get their drinks, he almost snorted. "You can uncover your face now, she's gone."

"Malfoy, that was low! Honestly, you embarrassed the life out of me!" But despite her flushed cheeks, she was laughing as well.

"_That _was fun," he chortled. "God, you're easy to tease."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, looking away. "And you're hopeless."

"Apparently not, if you're still trying to save me from being _evil_." He wiggled his fingers at her with a mischevious smirk.

Hermione vacillated. She didn't want to tackle the subject of Malfoy's goodness or lack thereof, at least not just yet. "So what's our story?" she asked instead.

"Story?" Malfoy echoed, holding up a fanciful porcelain salt shaker with Victorian images of a childhood sweethearts on it and eyeing it distastefully.

"You said if anyone we knew _did _see us, and got too suspicious for a sudden fight to appear plausible, we could make up some clever lie. So, let's hear it."

Draco pursed his lips, putting down the salt shaker. "You expect me to come up with something, just like that? _Now_?"

"You're the Slytherin," Hermione said frankly, putting her chin in her palm. "Devious behavior is your area of expertise, not mine."

"Good point," he was a little too quick to acknowledge. "Well… give me a minute to think about it."

Malfoy glanced out the window, pensive for a few seconds. Suddenly, his jaw dropped in alarm. "Uh-oh. Get down!"

"What?" Hermione felt his hand shove her head down onto the table; for a moment she felt as though her face had become one with the lace trimming on the tablecloth. "_Mmph_! Mrrfoy, whrrr you doong?"

After a few moments, Draco's palm let up its force on her head. "All right, it's safe now. But look out there." He pointed through the lace curtains, then pulled them back a tiny bit to reveal the glass of the window. Through it, Hermione could just make out a retreating figure with slumped shoulders, red hair and a Gryffindor scarf. "I think Weaselby finally figured out that you gave him the slip."

"Oh, Merlin," she quivered, her head drooping back down onto the table, "why can't he just leave me _alone_?" She repeatedly thumped her forehead on the table.

Suddenly putting two and two together, Malfoy's jaw dropped and he let out a hissing snicker. "No way! You mean the Weasel _fancies _you? Oh, that is just too funny!"

"Hilarious. I can hardly breathe for laughing," came Hermione's bitter riposte as he doubled up, hooting hysterically. "Honestly, Malfoy, it's exasperating. If Harry were here, it wouldn't so awkward, but…"

"But he isn't here," he finished for her. "Luckily for you, I am. Ah, yes, saved by butterbeer!"

Hermione was quick to hide her face again, lest the overly romantic Madam Puddifoot get too close a look at his companion. He dropped a handful of coins into the old matron's hands and winked at her as she lowered the mugs to the table, whispering something in her ear.

"Oooh!" Madam Puddifoot gave a high-pitched giggle. "Yes, sir! You two enjoy yourselves!" She hurried back into the kitchen, coins clinking and jingling as she counted them out.

Hermione arched an eyebrow, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear. "Malfoy, what was that all about?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "Just telling her we, er… wanted to be left alone."

Hermione nearly choked on her butterbeer.

"All right, there?" he asked. "Might try drinking more slowly."

She glared at him. "Thanks for the advice."

"No problem."

They drank in silence, occasionally glancing up at each other. Once more, Hermione sat staggered by the implausibility of the situation. Here she was, sitting across from the person Harry hated most in the world, apart from Voldemort. _Her_, Hermione Granger, whose parents were both Muggles - and Malfoy, whose parents would rather go down to the Black Lake and shake hands with the giant squid than touch a Muggle.

_Why is he doing this_? she couldn't help but wonder as they locked eyes, hers questioning, his intense. _Come to think of it… why am I_?

"Ready?" he asked then, watching her finish off the last of her butterbeer. "Off we go, then."

The walk to the Shrieking Shack didn't take long, and fortunately they didn't see anyone else along the leaf-strewn pathway. "I guess everyone is saving the best for last," Hermione suggested.

"So that's it, then," Malfoy sniffed, evidently unimpressed by the ramshackle house behind the chickenwire. "Doesn't look haunted to me. Just old and rundown."

"We could go inside," she teased, knowing Slytherins weren't exactly famous for their bravery.

"What's the point? Won't be anything in there but cobwebs and dust." He glanced over at her, hoping she wasn't reading him as well as she usually did.

"It's settled, then. We're going in." Hermione laughed, taking his hand and pulling him towards the Shrieking Shack.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Granger," Draco objected as they ran, "there could be loose floorboards, and we could fall; or the ceiling might give way -"

"If I didn't know better, Draco Malfoy, I'd say you were scared," she teased. "Come on then, where's your sense of adventure?"

Malfoy scowled. Those had been his words earlier - only this time, it wasn't funny.

"Well, here we are," she announced cheerfully, standing with him in front of the door. The building gave a low groan, creaking as it swayed back and forth. Beside her, she thought she heard him gulp.

Draco's lip curled. "Yeah, now we've seen it. We can go."

Hermione stepped ahead of him, but he yanked her back. "What is it?"

"I… I don't want to go in there, all right?" he finally replied. "I don't want you to go either. I don't think it's safe."

"Afraid of ghosts, are we?" she teased.

"The ones at Hogwarts, not so much. _These_…" He gave a shiver. "But don't you dare tell anyone."

Hermione blinked innocently at him. "Well, if you didn't want to see the Shrieking Shack, then why are we here?"

Malfoy shook his head, blond hair whipping in the wind. "And you're supposed to be the smarter of the two of us? How did you ever beat me last year?" He took her gloved hand in his. "Come on, then. Around the back."

Hand in hand, they crunched through the last of the autumn leaves, rounding the corner and reaching the back of the house, which was even more dilapidated than the front. Hermione, however, scarcely noticed. Her eyes were lost in Malfoy's avid stare.

"No one will see us back here," he explained softly.

"Privacy," she remembered in a whisper.

"Exactly." He grinned, taking her hands in his. "Did you get my last note?"

Hermione giggled, remembering. "Of _course_, Mr. Vice-President of the Tea & Scones Society. I was _so _excited to read your thoughts on the last meeting."

"No more than I was when I saw your notations on the same subject, Madam President," he replied, sharing in their joke with a light chuckle. "Those notes get me through the day sometimes," he added in a more serious whisper.

Hermione took a step closer to him, her laugh fading, though her smile did not. "Me, too."

Exhaling softly, touched, Draco's hands reached out and cupped her face, just staring at her for a time.

Hermione leaned her face to the side a little. "Draco, what are you staring at?"

"You. You looked cold," he replied. "I'm trying to warm your face. Look just there. I can see that your nose is cold," he noticed, kissing its red tip. "And your cheeks are like ice." He kissed each one of them in turn. It didn't escape his notice that by now her eyes were positively gleaming. "And I just bet…" He leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers.

Hermione's heart was racing. It suddenly didn't matter if Ron liked her. It didn't matter if they were seen. It didn't even matter that she was with Malfoy, Harry Potter's nemesis and once the bane of her existence, the snotty rich boy who had called her names and teased her behind her back. The boy she was with now wasn't the same person. He was witty, intelligent, had proper manners, and… and, she felt like her knees were going to buckle underneath her.

Pressing her lips firmly to his, Hermione savored the warmth of his mouth, the slight aftertaste of butterbeer, the closeness they shared as his hands moved from her face to wrap about her waist. And then, an extraordinary thing happened. For once in her life, her overactive mind finally shushed to the point of sweet silence, and let her just be an ordinary girl.

ooo LL ooo

"Where'd you disappear to, then?" Ron asked for the third time as Hermione shoved half of the sweets she had bought for Harry into his gangly arms.

_Snogging your most hated nemesis, Malfoy_, she thought feebly, _next question_? "I've already told you, I was in Hogsmeade, the same as you," she replied. "I'm not sure where I lost you, but I never could find you again. We were probably just walking in circles. Now come along, we're to give that to Harry, and don't you _dare _be in a bad mood when he's already had to spend the day cooped up in here alone."

Ron's lower lip jutted out as though he didn't believe a word of her story, but he took the candy and followed her through the Fat Lady's portrait into the Gryffindor common room.

"So what did you think of Zonko's?" she asked then, and that at least got him talking. By the time they reached an eagerly awaiting Harry with news of Hogsmeade, Ron had seemed to forget all about it, he and Hermione relating happily to their best friend what they'd seen.

But the next night as they studied in the common room, Hermione realized that Ron hadnt forgotten at all. Ron sat across from her on the scarlet couch as she occupied the armchair, legs folded underneath, absorbed in her Ancient Runes textbook. His eyes kept glaring up at her, and though he pretended to scribble onto his parchment, she knew Ron too well to think he was actually doing his own work. He was just biding time until he could work up his nerve.

At last, it finally came out. "Are you ever going to tell me where you really went, Hermione?" he cried, slamming his books down on the floor.

Hermione rolled her eyes, flipping another page so hard it nearly tore out. She refused to look up or even acknowledge him at first. The Gryffindor common room was full tonight, and as such it was the last place she wanted to discuss her day at Hogsmeade with the person she'd tried to avoid. Already, they were getting a few odd looks, and she hoped he would just take the hint and drop it.

Ron seethed, hating this silent treatment of hers. He hadn't mentioned to Harry that she'd gone missing; he knew if he started talking and blurted out his real feelings on the subject, the trio's friendship would grow even more awkward than it already had. Still, it was killing him not to know the real reason she'd left him alone. At last he had to repeat his demand. "Well, Hermione? What about it? Why'd you disappear on me?"

Breathing in a deep breath and inwardly counting to ten, Hermione finally closed her book and looked up at him, her face devoid of expression. "Don't be silly, Ronald; of course I didn't disappear. You know we can't Apparate yet, and Harry had his Invisibility Cloak here with him. It's not my fault if you got lost in Hogsmeade."

"_I wasn't bloody lost_!" Ron shot back, his face turning the color of his hair as his fists clenched. "And I don't think _you _were, either! I think you just wanted rid of me so you could…"

Hermione glanced up. "So I could what? Either spit it out, or never bring it up again, because frankly you're starting to get on my nerves."

"Fine!" he said angrily. "I think you wanted rid of me so you could go meet up with your secret admirer!"

"My _what_?" Hermione scoffed.

"You heard me!" Ron lashed out. "Ginny said the first night of term, you were up late reading a love letter. She's seen you reading letters with the same handwriting on them several times since. So, who is he then? Some scabby seventh-year who can't get a girl his own age?"

"First of all, it wasn't Ginny's place to come and tell you _her _assumptions about _my _love life," Hermione answered back, "and second, let me make it perfectly clear that unless _I_ choose to share something with you, it's none of _your _business, either! For your information, those notes are from a study partner I've been meeting in the library."

"You really expect me to believe that?" Ron frowned. "That this - whoever he is - is just a study partner?"

"Would you care if it wasn't?" she returned coldly.

Their row might have continued, had Harry not entered the common room in his Quidditch gear, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey guys," Harry smiled, coming to sit on the couch between them. "Wait 'til you hear what happened at Quidditch practice! Katie Bell did this awesome maneuever, I really think it's going to help in the match against Hufflepuff -"

Hermione exhaled loudly. _Here two seconds, and they're already talking Quidditch. That's my cue to bow out gracefully, isn't it_?

"No offense, but I have to study," she declared, "and it's clear I won't get anything done here. See you later, Harry." She walked up the stairs to her dorm without another word to Ron.

"What was that all about?" Harry wondered aloud, staring after her.

"Hermione has a secret admirer," Ron groused, folding his arms across his chest, "and she won't tell me who it is."

"This is the first I've heard of it," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow. "Strange. It's not like Hermione to keep secrets from us. But I don't see why you're so upset about it."

Ron's face flushed. "Why _shouldn't _I be upset? Like you said, she's keeping secrets from us!"

"I think girls get weird when it comes to who they like, though," Harry offered, "or at least, that's what I've noticed. Anyway, you shouldn't let it bother you. It's not like you like her yourself or anything."

"_Me_? Like Hermione?" Ron almost squeaked, his voice cracking. "That's just bloody ridiculous, that is! Why would I like _her_? I mean, those awful teeth, and that hair - she can be a right sight when she first gets up in the morning -"

"_Ron_!" Harry chided, heatedly frowning at his best friend.

"Well, it's _true_," Ron muttered, relaxing into the couch now that he'd successfully taken the focus off of himself.

"Hermione's pretty, Ron," Harry defended. "I'm actually a little surprised this hasn't come up before now."

"Really?" Ron's jaw dropped. "Harry… _you _don't like her, do you?"

"No," Harry was quick to reply, his cheeks flushing, "not like _that_. She's too much like a sister to me, you know? It would be too weird. I just don't think it's crazy that someone would fancy her, that's all."

"Oh." Ron nodded, hiding his relief. It was one thing to be worried over some nameless, faceless guy hitting on the girl he sort of liked - it was entirely another to think he would have to fight Harry over her. Harry always won everything. It would make sense that he'd win Hermione's heart too. But as this obviously had nothing to do with Harry, Ron knew he would have to find out who his competition was - somehow.


	10. At the Quidditch Game

Hermione stomped up the stairs, pounding her anger into each step. _Oh, the nerve! How _dare _Ginny tell him about the…_ The sudden realization struck her with horror. _The notes. Ginny saw the notes from Draco_! With a panicked gasp, Hermione started running.

She all but tore the curtains from her bed in her haste to shove them aside, sliding anxious fingers underneath the mattress, practically holding her breath. Only when she felt the familiar scratch of parchment against her hand did she relax, and exhale.

Hermione pulled out the notes, counting them, making certain they had not been re-folded or smudged. Though her breath had steadied, her heart was still flying.

Her mind was already hard at work analyzing every moment that Ginny had been in her presence. _She saw Malfoy holding me on the train_, Hermione remembered, trembling. _And she was there when the tea and scones came, along with the first note. The others she saw… I don't know, maybe she saw me reading them before bed… and I thought I was so clever to fold them into my class notes! Not careful enough, I've not been _nearly _careful enough… and all it would take is one mistake… _

An even more sobering thought hit Hermione then. _If Ginny has seen more than one of the letters, chances are she'd recognize Malfoy's writing on sight. If she ever actually sees his penmanship on something she knows he wrote.._. Her hands shook, rattling the paper.

Hermione furiously tucked the notes back under her mattress, though not without charming them first to resemble ordinary rubbish to anyone else. Then she got up into the bed, pulled her knees to her chest, and began to cry.

_It was a close call_, she told herself. _Too close. If Ginny's one step away from knowing the truth, then Ron is only one step behind her - and that's one step too close for me._

ooo LL ooo

Hestia shivered, the damp chill biting into her bones. Overhead the darkening skies rumbled with the coming storm. Salem had been cold, but nothing had prepared her for the sudden return to Britain's climate after nearly a lifetime away. She found herself wishing she could simply Apparate herself straight to the Florida Keys, complete with a beach towel and a margarita. Still, as she glanced down at the beaming face of her darling nephew, she knew it was worth it. It had meant everything to him for her just to come today and watch Quidditch with him, and of course sit with all his Ravenclaw friends. How could she have said no, even if she _had _a life?

She ambled down the path to the Quidditch pitch alongside Henry and his rather boisterous group of friends, laughing and talking gaily as though she were the same age as they. Hestia smiled widely and nodded, genuinely listening to every word they said. She often wondered if that was why she got along so well with children - she was one of the few adults who would take them seriously. They talked of simple childhood pleasures, of collecting Chocolate Frogs and games of Exploding Snap, and slowly but surely Hestia began to feel a little wistful and out-of-place.

At twenty-five, she was getting a little too old for such conversations, but unmarried witches of a certain age who weren't married to their careers seemed to be few and far between, and she found her list of available friends to spend time with growing thin. Married witches did not want a young, single friend around their wizard husbands unless she resembled a troll and could thus be deemed "safe," and wizards and Muggle men alike seemed utterly uninterested in her, despite the fact that everyone she knew said she was "_so _pretty" and "_so _nice." Though on the surface she still grinned and teased, beneath the vibrant smile lay a deep-seated loneliness, one she was beginning to believe would slowly consume her until she wearied of life enough to die.

"Come on, Aunt Hesty!" Henry said, breaking her trance as he tugged at one of her arms, a little girl tugging on the other hand. Hestia's heart sank. She hadn't even realized she had stopped walking. "Aunt Hesty, are you okay?"

"Fine," she whispered, automatically assuming her smile, although for a second she could not bring herself to move. "I'll be okay." She squeezed his hand softly, then set forth on the path once more. "So is it supposed to be a big game today?"

"Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff," Henry's little friend Aurora Weatherby replied instantly. "It would have been Gryffindor versus Slytherin, if Slytherin's seeker hadn't gone and wimped out."

"Au-_ror_-a!" hissed Henry deliberately, nodding his head to their left. Just ahead of them walked Professor Snape of Slytherin House, and in front of him strode most of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Aurora's lips sealed shut; her eyes widened in alarm. Fortunately, Snape didn't appear to have heard them.

"Look at him," Aurora said under her breath, motioning to a blond boy just ahead of Snape who was flanked on either side by hefty boys who looked as though they would grow up to be bouncers at some nightclub. "There's probably nothing wrong with his arm."

Henry gasped. "That's Slytherin's Seeker? No _way_! That's the mean boy I told you about, Aunt Hesty! The one who called me the Easter Bunny."

Hestia turned her eyes where her young friends had been looking and saw the pale hair and narrow face that belonged to Slytherin's Seeker. "So that's the little punk? I'm disappointed. He doesn't look that vicious to me. Emo, maybe." She pored over the small crowd surrounding him, recognizing the one who brought up the rear. He wore the same sinister robes and surly demeanor that belonged to the Potions Master. She studied him for a moment, finding it oddly familiar that he should seem so alone and unhappy, surrounded by children who knew nothing of who he really was. Tucking back the dark curls that were furling before her face, she turned to Henry and asked, "Hey. Isn't that the man I met when I came to visit you in the hospital? Snape, was it?"

"Shh, Aunt Hesty, not so _loud_!" Henry panicked.

But Snape had already heard her voice. The brooding professor glanced back over his shoulder and paused, staring at her for a moment until his face finally seemed to register recognition. Letting the Slytherins go on without him, he approached her, black robes and hair waving like shadowy banners in the harsh wind behind him. The storm only enhanced his formidable air; he looked like a messenger of doom. Hestia's crowd of children cowered and backed away a few steps, leaving her practically alone.

"Miss Jones," he greeted her, his sallow face as dour as ever. "A most unexpected surprise. I see your nephew is quite recovered." He glanced down at Henry, who looked as though he wanted to sink down into the ground.

"Yes, thanks to you," Hestia nodded cordially, still unable to bear out the full glow of her customary smile. "Madam Pomfrey told me you made the potion that undid the _Leporineum _curse. I'm glad I got the chance to see you and thank you personally."

"I assure you, it was a simple potion to cure an equally simple jinx," Snape demurred, not quite meeting her eye, "no trouble to me whatsoever."

"I still appreciate it, however little trouble to you it was," Hestia said earnestly. "It's really nice of you to help out Madam Pomfrey the way you do."

Snape fidgeted; he was not certain how to reply to someone who had just given him both gratitude and praise, and on top of it suggested in all seriousness that he might be _nice_. Also, it had not escaped his notice that Hestia's little companions were practically holding their breath in trepidation, and a few of them were turning quite purple.

He finally dared to look back at Hestia, meeting her gaze only to find a strange sense of understanding and compassion in her eyes. In only a moment, a glance, it was as though she knew all the sorrow that had twisted him into the person who stood before her. Snape had only felt genuinely frightened twice in his adult life. This was the second time.

"The game will begin soon," he said awkwardly, by way of a farewell, "I must rejoin my students."

"Of course," Hestia replied, secretly crestfallen at being so lightly brushed off. "It was nice seeing you."

Snape's eyes widened like a hawk's before being hit with a hunter's fatal arrow. No one ever said _that _- not to _him_. _He_, Severus Snape, former Death Eater and worst nightmare of nearly every student at Hogwarts - how could anyone be happy to see _him_? Surely she had meant it as a figure of speech; a trite comment and nothing more, he reasoned. She seemed like the sort who would go out of her way to be polite. Yet she had sounded so _sincere_… and, if his ears did not mistake him, a little sad.

"The pleasure was mine," he managed to reply, though it was scarcely audible. "Miss Jones."

"Professor Snape," she nodded numbly as he took his leave. She stared after him for a moment, then sighed. "Well, kids? Ready to see some Quidditch?"

The children didn't move. They were staring at her in shock, as though they'd just seen something as earth-shattering as a tornado or a volcanic eruption. Henry's face bore the most disbelief; his jaw hung slack until his face resembled that of a trout.

"What's the matter with you?" Hestia asked.

"Don't you_ know?_" Henry scowled, staring after the billowing robes of his most insufferable teacher. "Snape was actually _nice _to you."

"_That _was _nice_?" Hestia raised a befuddled eyebrow. She truly thought he'd just blown her off.

"For Professor Snape it was," Darren Lovejoy scoffed. He scrunched up his face in a look of distaste, draping his fingers over his forehead to mimic Snape's long hair and growled, "_'The pleasure was mine.'_" The others laughed at his spot-on impression.

Hestia baulked. She had thought Snape was all too hasty to get out of her presence, and yet this group of children was behaving as though he'd just dropped to one knee and composed her a sonnet on the spot. "I don't know," she said uncertainly.

"I wish _she _could teach here," Lydia Haversham added, "maybe if she was around, Snape would start being nicer to people."

"We'd better hurry!" called a boy named Eric Miller then, waving them forward. "The game's going to start any minute!"

Snape's momentary lapse into civility was forgotten as the young Ravenclaws, their bemused new friend Aunt Hesty in tow, raced down to the Quidditch pitch.

ooo LL ooo

Hermione, Ron and Ginny found seats with the Gryffindors for the game. The sea of maroon and gold around them was alive with shouts and cheers despite the rain, and exuded a feeling of confidence that their team would win against Hufflepuff. How could they not, when Harry Potter was their Seeker?

Hermione and Ron were each glad of the surrounding boisterous din, although for very different reasons: Hermione because Ron couldn't ask her any more probing questions, and Ron because Ginny would be so busy watching and cheering for Harry that Hermione couldn't loose any venom on his tattletale sister. To see the three of them shouting together for the same team, no one would have guessed that their friendship was the least bit strained.

The Quidditch players emerged from their changing areas with brooms in tow, taking their places as Madam Hooch strode out to the centre of the field as referee. The screams of the crowd howled just above the wind, pennants of Hufflepuff yellow and Gryffindor scarlet undulating on opposite sides of the pitch. Hermione glanced over to make certain Ron was watching Harry, then cast a quick eye over to the left, where the Slytherins sat.

Beneath a giant umbrella, Malfoy was motioning to his arm; she could see his mouth forming words as he spoke to a sympathetic-looking Pansy and the more obtuse Crabbe and Goyle. Others sitting closeby nodded agreement with whatever he was saying. Hermione sighed, tucking her chin to her chest and looking away.

_You knew this was coming_, her conscience chose that moment to tell her. _The disappointment in him as he continues to play a part for his friends; his not being there to comfort you when you feel afraid; your apposite fear to acknowledge one another openly. This is the price you knew you'd pay for your secret_.

But it still hurt.

Madam Hooch blew the whistle, tossing up the Quaffle to begin play. Hermione's eyes flashed open, finding distraction in the form of Harry, darting up and around on his Nimbus 2000 as he chased down the Snitch. So determined was she to lose herself in concern for her friend that she was oblivious to a pair of silver-grey eyes across the bleachers, searching the crowd for her and finding her at last.

ooo LL ooo

"Does it need massaging, Draco?" Pansy simpered, her thin hands already wound around his forearm.

"Er... no, thanks," Malfoy replied awkwardly, wishing she'd move. Her narrow head was obstructing his view of the Gryffindor section, and the only person in it he cared to see. "It's still a little sensitive to the touch."

"Oh," said Pansy, looking a little upset that she had to release her grip on him. "Well, if you need me to later, let me know."

Draco gave her a distracted nod. He _was_ watching the game - it was important to see exactly what tactics Wood and Potter had devised for their team, especially as he'd promised his father he wouldn't lose again - but he couldn't stop his gaze from wandering.

_I can't believe she's sitting next to Weaselby_, he thought with irritation. _What does she see in him, anyway? I've heard that redheaded runt talking about her before to his rotten Gryffindor friends; he acts like he thinks he's better than her, when she's far and away better than he'll ever get or deserve_.

_You call her a Mudblood to _your _friends,_ his conscience was quick to remind him.

_But I don't actually mean it._

_Maybe he doesn't either._

_Right, and I'm a house-elf named Dinky_. Draco looked askance as he saw the two in question talking. Ron's head was leaning close to Hermione's, nodding at whatever she had to say. The blond Slytherin snarled, fists unconsciously clenching. _Watch it, Weaselby. Lay so much as a finger on her, and I won't be the only one with a broken arm_.

ooo LL ooo

Oliver Wood had called a time-out for Gryffindor. Down below, a girl had run into the sopping rain, brown curls plastered to her head as she waved a wand at their Seeker's face.

Hestia shook under her umbrella, Henry pushing into her side for warmth. _Quidditch be damned, _she thought; she was about to whisk them both to somewhere with a roaring fire and hot tea. "Think it'll be over soon?" she asked her nephew, teeth chattering.

"You never know with Quidditch," Henry replied, "since the game's not over until they catch the Snitch."

Hestia rolled her eyes; Henry thought he heard her mumble something about how at least Muggles were sensible enough to call off their games for inclement weather.

"Hey," Henry said then, peering down at the field, "I know that girl. That's her."

"What girl?" Hestia wondered, hardly able to tell the difference between anyone except the brightly-clad team players through the torrential rain.

"The one who helped Gryffindor's Seeker with his glasses just now," Henry replied. "That's the mean boy's girlfriend."

"Oh, really?" Hestia nodded.

"Yeah. It's still seems kind of crazy to me... I mean, she's a Gryffindor."

"So? I thought you had some friends who were Gryffindors."

"Yeah, they're okay, it's just… her boyfriend is a _Slytherin_."

Again, Hestia was mystified. There hadn't been any divisions like Houses to inspire either loyalty or rivalry at Salem Institute. "So what?"

"So, Slytherins and Gryffindors don't get along," Henry explained as the game started back. "They hate each other."

"Just because of what House they're in?" Hestia scoffed, arching an eyebrow. "Well, that seems stupid. I think I like that girl; I respect anyone who can throw tradition to the wind when it's wrong."

Henry pulled away from his aunt a little, shaking his head. "You just don't get it, do you?"

For possibly the first time ever, Aunt Hesty gave her nephew a reproving look. "You mean, I don't get why people can't like each other for some superficial reason? No, Henry, I guess I _don't _get it. And that's probably what's wrong with me."

Henry exhaled loudly. "Aunt Hesty, you know I didn't mean -"

"Nevermind," she muttered then, shaking her head. "It's fine. Forget it."

But Henry couldn't forget it. He had never understood his aunt, no matter how much he loved her. She just wasn't _like _everyone else. Any sort of unkindness or unfairness, no matter how slight, moved her to anger if she perceived it to be undeserved. She seemed determined to see beauty in the excluded and lonely, heal the hurting, and protect the defenseless, no matter the cost to her heart when they all eventually walked away.

_You live in the real world, Hestia_, he had heard his aunt Debra tell her once when she had come home for Christmas, her tone exasperated. _People are human; you can't expect them to be perfect. Life isn't fair. People aren't fair. You have to get used to that_.

_I can't_, he'd heard her reply. _I won't. There has to be something out there that's better than that. _I'm _better than that_.

_But no one else is! And if you keep on insisting that everyone you're with play as fair and be as honest as you are, you're going to end up alone._

And thus far, it looked as though Aunt Debra had been right. No one wanted to be near a true innocent, not for any long period of time; it cast too glaring a light on their own imperfections. Still, Henry knew it was unfair. No one should have to be alone and unwanted for being _too _good and honorable, and yet that was exactly the conundrum Hestia Jones had fallen into.

Remembering that conversation, and how gravely silent the usually-jovial Aunt Hesty had become both then and now, Henry nuzzled up against her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I love you."

Aunt Hesty made no verbal reply just then, but he felt her arm behind his back, pulling him close again and tilting her umbrella to cover his head more than hers. "I love you, too," she finally whispered. Drenched as they were, no one would notice that tears had begun to spill down her cheeks.

ooo LL ooo

**_A/N: Yes, I realize this chapter was pretty emo. I blame the gothic rock I was listening to when I wrote most of it. :-) But I haven't leapt off the deep end; the plot is still going where I intended. Thanks again to all those of you reading and reviewing!_**


	11. A Sentimental Fool

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall this morning was tinged with red; a sunrise lingering into breakfast-time as though the bright circle was reluctant to ascend. Owls screeched overhead, circling about in the vermilion light. Draco gazed up into the surreal scene and saw the familiar feathers of his father's eagle owl as it descended towards him, the usual box of sweets in its talons not the only reminder of home it bore. The blond Slytherin reached out to retrieve the note tied to its leg, one that smelled faintly of a powdery perfume.

A soft smile graced Draco's face. _It's from Mother_. Unlike the sporadic letters he received from his father reminding him to uphold the family honor, this was one letter from home he had been eagerly awaiting.

"Malfoy," Crabbe wondered, already fiddling with the string tying the box shut, "is it all right if we -"

"Go ahead," he waved distractedly, not seeing the grins that lit Crabbe and Goyle's faces as their restraint broke and they began to help themselves. His grey eyes scanned the elegantly written lines upon the parchment, anxiously reading.

_Draco,_

_It seems to come too soon for my liking - the fancy that sparks the flame of my only son's transition from boyhood into maturity. I do not know why, but I think mothers would keep their children small forever if we could, cradled in our arms. All the same, I am anxious to hear every detail. Who is the lovely pureblood witch who has enchanted my little Draco's heart? What is her name; which is her family? I know you must be very busy with schoolwork and Quidditch and so I shall not press you for details now, but I very much look forward to Christmastime, when the two of us can sit together and talk. I miss you desperately, but I know you are doing your father and I proud. I'm glad your arm is better, and I hope you'll make use of it and write me again soon. Until then,_

_Love from Your Mother,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Beside him, Crabbe and Goyle were digging heartily into the care package his mother had sent, oblivious to his rapid descent into dismay. Somewhere a thousand miles away from wherever his heart had gone, Goyle exclaimed, "Ooh, she sent Cauldron Cakes this time! My favorite!" Draco could care less about the Cauldron Cakes or even his breakfast, which now lay most unappealingly on his plate.

_The pureblood witch_, he repeated in his mind. _Mother thinks… she assumes… _His jaw clenched; his eyes closed involuntarily. _I should have expected this. Why did I dare hope she would understand? _

_Because you wanted it so much_, that nagging voice in his mind murmured, thankfully softer and more gently this time than usual.

Draco looked up at the Gryffindor table. Potter was, of course, evidently absent; one did not simply get up and come straight back to class after falling fifty feet off a broom. And, as went the leader of the Goody Do-gooder Trio, so went the other two. Granger and Weasley, he heard, had been predictably noble and stayed closeby their friend in the hospital.

_Oh, stop acting like you hate the fact that she's practically a saint_, his conscience growled, _you like her _because _she's Little Miss Sanctimonious - because you like having someone in your life you don't have to worry about hurting you_.

_Yes, but how long can I really _keep _her in my life_? he dolefully wondered, deliberately trying not to look at the letter in his hands. Slowly, Draco folded it up and tucked it into his pocket, hoping he would never have to see it again. He gave the expectant owl its treat and watched as it flew away, with it yet another of his hopes. He pushed back his plate, unable to even think of taking another bite.

Unwilling to risk showing his face in the hospital wing with Weasley and Potter there, Malfoy gave up the idea of seeking out Hermione to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right, but he could not sit there numbly and continue to dwell on the letter. He practically sprang off the bench and grabbed his bookbag, mumbling a lie to his two chocolate-smeared cohorts about needing to see one of his professors before class. They nodded, too dense to question his excuse; at least in instances like this, he could be thankful for the sluggishness of their wits.

Classes were a blur, and at the end of the day, no notes had come from Hermione. Draco went to the library, wandering aimlessly through the rows of shelves. In his mind he relived the moment she had run into him there last year, of their first physical contact, and the fight that had led to their truce. The library was almost sacred to Hermione; it was her special place, her sanctuary. But without her presence, it was just… _empty_.

Everything was.

ooo LL ooo

Professor Snape climbed the winding stone stairs to the Owlery, order form for Dervish & Banges in hand. Furrowing his brow, the hook-nosed Potions Master read over the list once more, making certain it was correct.

_And they'd best not overcharge me again, _he thought with annoyance. _I don't care if Hogsmeade is closer, it's worth a quick Floo to London if they're going to bill me twenty Galleons for something as rudimentary as a pewter Space Minimizing Mini-Cauldron. Highway robbery_.

He had nearly ascended the staircase when he saw that he was not alone. Draco Malfoy stood by the window of the stone turret, leaning rather forlornly against the rocky wall. He was releasing a tiny Scops owl, and had a larger owl sitting beside him, a letter already tied to each leg. The boy looked up as he saw him approaching and quickly stood straight.

"Hello, Professor Snape," he greeted him, wasting no time in scooping up the second owl after the first had flown away.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied, taking up one of the Scops from the Local Delivery shelf. "How is your arm recovering?"

"Much better, thank you," Draco replied quickly, turning sideways in an effort to hide the blush of his lie. "I should be ready to start practicing again this week."

"Excellent. I look forward to seeing the look on Potter's face when he loses." Snape gave Malfoy a reassuring smirk.

Draco was slow to smile back, but he met Snape's eye with a determined nod. "Thanks, Professor. I'll see you in class." He hurried away, his usually proud chin tucked low to his chest.

Snape pressed his lips together with concern. He knew, of course, that it was truly Malfoy's worry about not winning that had made him ask for a delay in the game against Gryffindor, and that Malfoy had a perfectly good reason not to want to play against Potter again. The last time he had, he'd nearly been on the receiving end of a torture curse. Snape could say nothing to comfort his abused student or allay his justified fears. All he could do was try to build him up, to make him hopeful.

_A cruel enough thing in itself_, Snape thought, bitterly wondering just how many hopes had fallen through for him before his own heart had turned to stone. _But it must be done_. _If Malfoy can't win against Potter… I dread to wonder how Lucius will react... and against him, I can do nothing._

Severus released his owl through the window towards Hogsmeade. He sighed softly, thankful for the moment alone away from the darkness of his dungeon. The frigid, gusting air and high altitude could almost make his mind drift away, if just for a second.

The truth was, Draco's situation was a stark reminder of his own unhappy past - a young wizard abused by his father, forced to bear it his pain in silence. A shiver passed through him as he recalled one particularly nasty beating; a fire-poker in his horrid father's dirty hands, the screams of Eileen Prince cutting through the darkness of the night, his own choked cries mingled with them before he'd blacked out… Snape closed his eyes. _It's over_, he told himself, as he did nearly every day upon waking from yet another nightmare, _he's dead. _But the past lived on in him, and though bruises healed and cuts mended with time, the pain never fully passed away.

The thought that Lucius was practicing the same cruelty on his son, and that he was powerless to stop it, made Snape almost nauseous. It was true that Draco had the advantages of handsomeness and wealth that he himself had lacked; and that because of those redeeming factors, Draco had been spared the ignominy of being kicked around and mercilessly teased by everyone at school, a fate Severus himself had not escaped. But Snape had learned from watching the world around him that money could not buy happiness any more than beauty could earn more than the illusion of love. Deep down he knew that, if given the choice, Draco would trade everything he had for a life he could live in peace.

_Just as I would_, he thought, _were it not too late for me_…

And then, unbidden, a thought flashed across his mind; a face, porcelain-skinned and delicate, with rosy cheeks and merry eyes, framed with raven waves, and a smile so genuine and accepting… Like a ray of moonlight streaming down into the Dark Forest and defeating the gloom wherever it touched, the memory of her presence filled his heart with warmth and life. For the first time in so long, so utterly long, he _wanted_…

Mentally, Snape slapped himself. _Stop being such a sentimental fool. She's too young, too beautiful, and too full of joy to sink her down with your despair. Don't mistake politeness for interest or pity for love. Make no mistake about it, Severus - Hestia Jones would never think of you. And she would be right not to..._

ooo LL ooo

Hermione trudged half-asleep back to Gryffindor Tower, eyelids fluttering from multiple days with almost no appreciable rest. Every few seconds she subconsciously reached a hand to her chest, feeling for the cool metallic circle of the Time Turner to make certain it was still there.

Madam Pomfrey had released Harry on the condition that he get plenty of rest. He and Ron ambled just ahead of her, yawning and lamenting the loss of Harry's broomstick.

Hermione hung back a little, trying to settle her thoughts about Ginny. She knew that, given her drowsy state, it was perhaps not the best time to contemplate starting a row with someone she considered a friend. Since the Quidditch match, however, she hadn't had the chance to think of anything but Harry. Now that he was recovered, there were things in her own life that needed resolving.

Like making certain Malfoy, and their secret, remained safe.

Hermione nervously chewed on the end of her fingernail. She would have to confront Ginny about the notes to find out if she knew anything potentially damaging. Now was a good time in one respect - that Ginny would be anxious to hear about Harry and would keep her up asking about him anyway. _I guess that settles it, then_, Hermione thought, bracing herself as they entered the common room and split up to go to their dormitories. _Courage, Hermione. That's why you're here and not in Ravenclaw. You can do this. You_ have _to do it._

Sure enough, Ginny was sitting up in her bed, red hair in pigtails, eyes wide. Before Hermione could even open her mouth to say that Harry was fine, Ginny shot out as if on cue, "Is Harry all right?"

"Yes, Ginny," Hermione nodded briskly, "Madam Pomfrey released him. He and Ron have already went up to bed, and I mean to follow suit very shortly."

"But _Hermione_!" Ginny almost squeaked. "You haven't told me _anything_. You spent all that time in the same room with Harry. Did he mention me at all?"

"No, Ginny, he didn't _mention _much of anything, as most of the time he was unconscious. But now that we're talking of _mentioning _things, do you happen to remember _mentioning _something to Ron about some notes I've been receiving?"

Ginny's ears and cheeks turned nearly as red as her hair. "Oops."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "That's right, _oops_. Since when is my love life or lack thereof your business? You had no right, _no right whatsoever_, to act like some pathetic nosy parker and go whispering in Ron's ear like that about me!"

"I thought I was doing the right thing!" Ginny defended.

"By telling Ron I had some sort of secret admirer?" Hermione rebounded. "Ginny, do you have any idea of the trouble you nearly caused?"

"You complained that Ron never really noticed you," Ginny stammered nervously, "so I thought I'd tell him about those notes and make him jealous. I figured if he had any feelings for you at all, finding out some other boy wanted you would make him come out and say it."

"I don't want to have to play games with someone to find out if he likes me, Ginny!" Hermione cried, falling onto her bed and groaning.

"But that's how it works with boys," Ginny said wisely. "Do you think any of them would ever admit to liking a girl on their own? Before seventh year, that is."

"_Yes_!" Hermione shot back, looking up to give a bleary nod. "As a matter of fact, I do. Which is why I've given up on Ron."

"Oh?" Ginny's jaw dropped. "Hermione, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Ginny, honestly, I'm so tired I don't know _what _I'm saying. I'm so tired it looks like you have two twin sisters sitting on either side of you - that, or you're related to Hagrid's dog Fluffy and you have three heads."

The youngest Weasley pursed her lips. "All right, then. If it _wasn't _a secret admirer, then who sent you the notes?"

Hermione gave a very bleary version of her most dignified face. "I told Ron, those notes were from a study partner. That's all."

Ginny gave her an odd look. "But you got the first one before classes had even started."

_Ouch. Busted. _Hermione watched as Ginny's expression went from confused to upset.

"All right, what are you not telling me?" Ginny folded her arms expectantly. "I want details. I want to know who this mysterious admirer of yours is, and why none of us have heard of him until now."

Hermione reached for her pillow, staring at it instead of her friend. "Ginny, please don't ask me. I've promised more than one person not to talk about… _him_. I can't break that promise. If I did… something awful could happen."

Suddenly, Ginny's face changed. "Are you all right, Hermione? I mean, are you in trouble or something? Is somebody threatening you?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Hermione replied wearily, "I'm _fine_. It's just… if word gets out that he's even just friends with me, he could be in serious trouble. You have to promise never to ask about it again."

"Hermione, I don't understand. How could this person be in trouble if someone found out he liked you?" Ginny sat puzzled, shaking her head. "I mean, I could see some of those Slytherin fathers going mental if they found out their sons were dating a Muggle-born witch, but you'd never be caught dead with a Slytherin, and besides -"

"Ginny, stop!" Hermione cut in anxiously, realizing that in her exhaustion she had given her too much information, and that Ginny had very nearly guessed what was really going on. "You mustn't say anything more. _Please_."

Hesitantly, Ginny nodded. "All right. I'll leave you alone. But if you're in any kind of trouble, Hermione, you have to tell me. You have to tell Ron and Harry, too. We're your friends. How can we help you if we don't know what's going on with you?"

"I promise, if I need help, I will tell you," Hermione agreed. "Now… can I please go to sleep? I just have... " she yawned. "So many classes, you know?"

"I know." Smiling now, Ginny reached over to hug her friend. "Absolutely, get some shut-eye. You deserve it. I only wish I could have stayed with you and Ron. Hermione, do you think -"

But the only thing that escaped Hermione's lips in reply was a long, agonized snore.

"Okay, then. Bedtime," Ginny surrendered in a whisper, drawing the curtains closed around Hermione's bed. "But just so you know - agreeing not to ask you questions doesn't mean I won't be keeping my eyes open."

ooo LL ooo

In the shadows of the abandoned History of Magic room that had become his and Hermione's meeting place, Draco Malfoy paced edgily back and forth. The blond Slytherin shook his head, waving his wand at the decrepit, rusty clock on the wall to ascertain the time. "She's late," he murmured nervously. "Maybe she didn't get my note. Maybe she's still sleeping. Maybe she just doesn't want to see me."

"Or maybe she just woke up, maybe she just found your note, and maybe she got here as soon as she could because she missed you."

Draco whirled round to find Hermione staring back at him, smiling broadly. They embraced, and he held her at arm's length. "Bloody hell, go back to bed. You look exhausted."

"Not a chance," she laughed, pulling him against her and resting her head on his shoulder. "You're stuck with me, bags under my eyes and all."

"Just don't fall asleep on me, you baggy-eyed wretch," he chuckled, squeezing her as he might a beloved teddy bear. "And by the way, I missed you too."

Hermione grinned, then pulled away to look back at him. "You know, you look like you haven't been getting much sleep either. Come to think of it, you look a little thinner as well."

Draco sighed, shrugging. "It doesn't matter. I'll be all right."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Draco, don't do this. If something is wrong, you can tell me. You know you can trust me."

"I do know that. I just -" He paused, struggling for the right words. "All right, fine. I wrote Mother a letter, telling her I fancied someone, and… well, when she wrote me back, she assumed it would be a pureblood girl. I knew Father would insist on it, but I didn't think she would, and…"

"And, you were hoping someone in your family besides you could accept me," Hermione finished, biting her lip. "Oh, Draco."

"Are you angry?" he asked, grey eyes wide with anticipation.

"Angry? Don't be stupid! Draco, I can't tell you what it means to me that you did that. That you would want to tell your mum about me."

Her beau shrugged. "Father and I may not get on so well, but…I wanted _her _to know," Draco admitted. "And I suppose I wanted advice on this whole 'girlfriend' business too, as I've never really had one before."

"Girlfriend?" Hermione beamed, laughing despite herself. "Is that what I am?"

"Unless I find out you've been loving up on Weaselby on the sly," Draco teased. "I know how hard it must be for you to resist his charms. That uncombed red hair, the vacant expression -"

"Draco!" she gasped, exploding with mirth as she smacked him with both hands. "I'm going to get you for that!"

He took the opportunity to scoop her hands into his, and reminded her softly, "You already have me."

"I know." She brushed a soft kiss across his expectant lips. "And I'm not giving you up, either, so don't think you can get rid of me."

Draco snapped his fingers. "And here I thought I could ditch you just in time to keep from having to get you a Christmas present. Oh, the rotten luck!"

"I don't need gifts, Draco," Hermione told him sincerely. "Just a little time with you every now and again, before we have to go back to the real world and pretend we're what everyone else wants us to be."

"That's all I want, as well," Malfoy shrugged in affirmation. "Although I'm not saying a Sugar Quill or two in my stocking wouldn't be nice… or perhaps a polishing cloth for my broom…" He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Already have your list made out, do you?" Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Wow. The boy who has everything still has a list for Father Christmas. Who would have guessed?"

"Oh, come now, Granger," Malfoy teased, taking that moment to tickle her sides, "don't you want anything? Perhaps a book that never runs out of pages for you to read?"

"Malfoy!" she howled, collapsing into his arms. The unexpected loss of balance sent them tumbling to the floor, and that only made them guffaw even louder.

"_Ouch_," he couldn't help but chuckle, clutching his ribs, "why is it every time I get near you, some part of my general anatomy gets injured?"

"I'll show _you _injured!" Hermione warned, this time trying to find his ticklish spots and use them against him.

Their play was sweet and innocent as they rolled about on the floor, tickling, laughing, as though there were nothing and no one in the world outside that shadowy little room. Draco and Hermione had never really had the chance to just be children, carefree and silly; around others, neither felt safe enough to let their guard down and enjoy themselves. But their trust had already grown so implicit that with one another, they did not fear to do just that.

Later, as they shared one more fleeting kiss and promised to try to see each other in Hogsmeade before the Christmas vacation, they would each reflect that this one lighthearted moment, however short, had been the happiest moment of their lives.

ooo LL ooo

Hestia Jones looked up from the manuscript, blinking hard. She felt like her hazel eyes were about to cross.

All her life, she had loved to read, and the internship at Salem Institute's library had been positively wonderful. So when Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley offered her a position, she'd jumped at the chance. Of course, that had been before she realized that not all books were interesting, and that some writers seemed determined to be verbose and make every possible grammatical error, a problem exacerbated by the fact that half the time their writing was illegible.

Hestia made a face. _You know, I'm not so sure this whole copy editor thing is working out for me_, she had to admit. _Of course, I'd rather be eaten by flobberworms than go tell my family another job didn't work out_.

The truth was, she was getting discouraged. Her personality seemed to clash with the British wizarding community something monstrous. She'd left after only a week at the Daily Prophet, having had a disagreement with Rita Skeeter, who apparently didn't want to hear that the Auto-Editing Charm in her Quick Quotes quill had gone faulty; and she'd stayed only two hours at Madam Malkin's as a fitter, before being chased out by a tiny army of attacking pins and needles after she'd said one set of her women's dress robes seemed a little "old-fashioned."

Hestia rubbed the back of her neck and stared out the only window, where the first snow of winter was sprinkling like powdered sugar into Diagon Alley. It was true that she had missed her family something awful, but she was starting to remember why she so seldom came home. _Every time I come back here, I feel out of place_, she thought miserably. _I can't even remember the last time I saw a friendly face, and... wait a minute! Isn't that - no way!_

To her amazement, she did indeed see someone familiar. _Not a friendly face, per se_, Hestia acknowledged inwardly, _but by Merlin, it'll do_.

"Just taking my break," she called to the publisher, a thin, bent old wizard with thick glasses, "back in a few minutes!"

Grabbing her coat, she raced outside into the cold just as it was beginning to snow. _Darn British precipitation_, she thought wretchedly as she held up a lock of her hair and saw that it was beginning to frizz and curl. _Oh, well_. _Too late for vanity now._

The person ahead of her was long-legged and moved rather quickly; it was all she could do to keep pace. Thankfully, he soon ducked into a the warm orange glow inside a nearby pub. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Hestia crossed her fingers and went inside after him.

ooo LL ooo

**_A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to churn out. Thanks for bearing with me_!**


	12. The Necklace

Narcissa Malfoy peered through the latticed window, pulling the velvet wrap close around her shoulders. The first snow of winter was sprinkling outside the manor. _Not that it matters_, she thought dully. Within, it was always cold.

Soaring through the snowfall, a large brown owl was winging its way toward the manor. Narcissa hurriedly opened the latch and let the bird inside. An icy wind howled into the manor as she bent down beside the desk where the owl had landed, ascertaining by the handwriting that Draco had sent the bird, and that he had written her and Lucius two separate letters. She hastily snatched her own and tucked it into her sleeve before sending the bird on its way, forcing the window shut behind it.

She had no more than locked back the pane when Lucius strode into the room, folding up this week's Daily Prophet. "Was that Owl Post?"

"From Draco," his wife replied easily, handing him his letter.

"Ah. Well, let's see what our son has to say." Lucius arched an eyebrow as he unfolded the parchment. "Doing well in school… started practice for Quidditch again, hoping his arm is up to it… asking if I've made any headway with the Ministry in getting that hippogriff destroyed… and love to us both." He slid the letter emotionlessly into his pocket without asking if Narcissa wanted to read it. "Well, that's that. I'm off."

"Where to?" the cold blonde beauty impassively wondered.

"To see an old friend," he replied evenly, "and make a business arrangement. Don't fret, my darling. I shan't be long." He offered her a plastic smile, then reached for his cloak and cane before going out the door.

Narcissa stood dutifully still until he had gone. The instant the door closed behind him, she raced up the winding stair to the master bedroom, watching out the window as her husband Apparated away. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she took out Draco's letter, and began to read.

_Mother,_

_Do you remember my favorite book, the one you used to read to me when it rained so I'd go to sleep? I still keep my copy with me. Do something for me. Go get it, and read page 57, starting at line 14. I think this will answer the question you asked in your last letter._

_I'm looking forward to Christmas. I hope you will be too. Love always,_

_Your son, __Draco_

With an unearthly grace that might have belonged to a veela, Narcissa descended the stairs and glided through the foyer, beneath the golden chandelier and past the glass cases where valuable magical items were placed on display. Into the library she strode, carrying the letter in her fragile hand like a time capsule meant to take her back all those bygone days, when Draco had hidden in her arms when he heard the thunder.

The Malfoy library was both spacious and grandiose, like the rest of the house; however, it radiated a singular warmth of personality all its own. The chamber was round with a high arched ceiling and slitted windows that spanned its height, a welcoming circle of knowledge encased in cherry shelves with golden flourishes and trim.

Narcissa had no need to search the shelves. This book had its own special place. She retrieved it from the shelf, reminiscing all the times she had held her son and read from its pages, and the shine of her baby's smile as he had melted the protective ice from her heart. _The Wizard's Journey: A Collection of Short Stories_, it read on the spine.

Page fifty-seven, line fourteen… her long, thin finger counted down the lines. _That's it. Fourteen_. She began to read.

_They said she would never be worthy of him; said the accident of her birth made her the lowest of the low. The prince had held his head high. He had tried valiantly not to love her. But it was done before he had known it was done, and he loved her, all the same._

Narcissa closed the book and pressed it to her chest, shaking her head. She understood his meaning all too well.

_My son. Oh, my son… what have you done?_

ooo LL ooo

Like a snowglobe turned upside down, the village of Hogsmeade had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Draco sniffed the fresh, crisp air with delight. He had always loved the winter; something in him came alive with the first snow. He peered through the frosted window of Honeyduke's, making certain he'd left his two cronies behind, then took off for a shop his mother had taken him to once called The Enchanted Emerald. It was a small shop, a bit like a storybook cottage, and it was perhaps not entirely coincidence that its owner should resemble a benevolent old fairy godmother.

"Good day, sir," Madam Elise, the elderly witch within, greeted him. "Young Master Malfoy, isn't it?"

"You know me?" Malfoy asked, surprised she remembered him. He'd been only a small boy when last he'd come here.

"How could I not? You're the very image of your mother." Her gaze was warm and kind. "Now, how can I help you?"

Suddenly, Draco felt self-conscious. Not only did he have to ask this woman to help him find something for a girlfriend of whom his mother would not approve, but directly after being told that he was the image of her. _Strange_, he thought, _usually people say I'm just like my father_. It felt good, however, to hear that not everyone saw him only in Lucius Malfoy's shadow.

"I'm looking for something… special," he murmured, not looking the patroness in the eye. "For Christmas."

"For yourself? Your mother, perhaps?" Madam Elise asked.

"Er…" Malfoy bit his lip. "Not exactly."

Suddenly a knowing smile graced Madam Elise's grandmotherly face. "Oh, I see. Well, let's get to work at once." A twinkle shone in her eyes as she beckoned him with a short, round finger and went to the back room. "I only keep my very special pieces in here," she explained over her shoulder.

Draco looked left and right in wonder, reflections of glittering stones lighting the silver of his eyes. The jewelry in the outer shop had been fine enough, but the items in Madam Elise's private collection were astonishing. She obviously had exquisite taste. The exceptional crowns, clasps and pendants here might have once belonged to royalty. Even Draco, who had lived his life in the lap of luxury, was impressed.

He followed Madam Elise from case to case, his attention focused on choosing from among the shining jewels within. Each of them bespoke a specific feeling or suited a certain purpose, but none of them expressed what he felt in his heart and wanted to make known.

Until he saw the necklace.

It was a simple thing, really - too plain to sit among handiwork of such grandeur - but that was part of what made it stand out. The mere sight of it made something in his heart almost stop. "What about this necklace?" he wanted to know, pointing it out.

A strange look crossed Madam Elise's aged countenance. "This one has been with me for quite some time. I keep it back here because… well, I suppose I'm reluctant to part with it."

Draco fingered the glass, transfixed. He didn't know why. It was only a thin golden chain, holding a heart-shaped charm made of tiny set rubies and emeralds. He had initially observed it because it seemed fitting - red and green, Gryffindor and Slytherin - but his heart told him there had to be something more to this piece than met the eye. "Why do you keep it?" he asked, tearing his gaze away for a moment.

Madam Elise inhaled deeply. "Sentimental value, I suppose. I love a good romance as well as any other witch, but this one was, sadly, unrequited. I don't think this piece is for you, Mr. Malfoy. Its history is marked with sorrow and loss."

"What happened? I want to know."

The elderly witch sighed. "A wizard once came here and asked me to commission a work for him: a single heart made of rubies and emeralds. He didn't have much money, but the look in his eyes when he asked me and his reason for wanting it - I couldn't say no." She paused, reminiscing, a faraway look in her eyes that made her seem almost careworn. "He had loved someone for years and never told her, only to find out she was engaged to another man - his enemy. The necklace was to be a gift for her, for when he made his declaration. When I asked what had made him fall so deeply in love, he said no one had ever seen the good in him before her. Beautiful sentiment, wasn't it?"

Draco nodded. It was becoming quite a romantic tale, especially as that last part had reminded him of his own reason for being there.

"That was the last I saw of him," Madam Elise went on, "until one day several years later. It was snowing then, just as it is today. He came back with the most sorrowful expression his face, bearing the necklace in his hands. He begged me to take it back. He wouldn't even sell it to me. He said he just couldn't bear to look at it anymore."

"The woman said no?" Draco asked, finding himself caught up in the story.

Madam Elise nodded. "He was utterly heartbroken. Not only did she marry the other man, a man he considered to be cruel-hearted and undeserving of her kindness, but only a few years after the marriage, she was killed. You-Know-Who, he said. I can only imagine the pain he went through."

Draco was visibly moved. He stared down at the necklace, a swell of emotion gripping his young heart. "If you want to keep it, I'll understand," he murmured, "but if you're willing to part with it… I think I want it. Actually, I know I do."

"After hearing that tragic history, you still want it?" Madam Elise exclaimed in disbelief.

"That's _why _I want it." He glanced meaningfully up at her. "I don't like to think anything is hopeless. Maybe if I buy this necklace, I can change its luck."

"And do you mean to search out another gift for your young sweetheart?" she asked hopefully. "Perhaps a nice ring, or -"

"No," Draco said softly, shaking his head. "Everything you have here is beautiful, but this is the one. I'm sure of it. I knew when I saw it that this necklace was special. And special is exactly what I want."

"She's a very lucky girl, you know," Madam Elise said then, opening the case to retrieve the necklace from its stand. The rubies and emeralds of the heart sparkled, complementing one another in the low candlelight. "I wouldn't have parted with this for anyone but Narcissa's son."

"No," Draco whispered as he watched her wrap it up. "I'm the lucky one."

ooo LL ooo

Severus Snape raised a sinister eyebrow. He was certain his pursuer had come in just behind him; the bell above the door had rung a bit too long after he had entered through it. Ever cautious, he felt for the wand at his side, then whirled on his heel to confront the person who dared tail him so closely. He could only hope it was not a former associate from his days as a Death Eater.

He had been ready to frighten, to attack if necessary. Old habits died hard. But as quickly as he turned, his angry scowl vanished, and his wand hand fell limply to his side; for the person who had been following him so closely was the very last person he had expected to find staring up at him now.

Snape's eyes nearly leapt out of their sockets as he recognized the diminutive, curvy form of Hestia Jones standing directly in front of him. Her appearance defied their surroundings; she was clad in torn jeans, a multicolored scarf, and a purple peacoat. In the rustic old pub with its heavy oak furniture and wrought-iron fixtures, filled halfway to capacity with wizards and witches in full regalia, she looked like she ought to be in one of those picture-books that instructed children to circle what did not belong.

Seemingly unaware of the fact that she stood out like a sore thumb, for her beauty as well as her Muggle attire, Hestia was smiling, her rosy cheeks positively reddened by the cold. "Hi," she offered brightly.

Severus inhaled sharply. He had neither imagined nor even hoped for such a meeting, but now that he had it, he wondered if he would have been safer facing a Death Eater. "Miss Jones," he acknowledged gruffly. "We meet again. Here for a drink?"

"Nah, not really," she said, still a bit out of breath from running.

Snape scoffed. "Well, _I _could certainly use one, and I have every intention of doing just that."

"Oh, rough day?" she understandingly simpered. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Again, she had caught him off guard with her disarming kindness. An odd twinge tightened his chest. "No need for concern; I shall do," he muttered, motioning for them to move out of the doorway so other patrons could go in and out. "I'm merely perturbed; it seems one cannot buy a reasonably-priced cauldron these days, no matter _where _they look. So, what business brings you here?"

"I came to see you." As his face instantly registered a look of baffled disbelief, she laughed. "I work just over there. I saw you pass by, and I thought, _hey_! I'll go say hi. So, here I am." She spread her arms as if to say "_ta-da_!" and gave him another dazzling smile. It hung on with a brilliant glow for several seconds, but the corners of it fell as he did not return the gesture. "Okay… well, I don't want to bother you or anything, so… I'll just go back to work now, and you can have your drink. Um… 'bye." She gave a halfhearted, whimsical little wave and turned on her heel.

It happened so quickly, Snape himself barely realized that he had done it. As Hestia turned to leave, his hand caught hers, firmly preventing her from walking away. "You're not a bother," he managed. "I… Merlin's beard, your hands are practically frozen."

Hestia turned, her smile gone, staring up at him with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The unexpected touch of his hand had nearly taken her breath away. "I get cold really easily," she explained meekly.

"So I see. Give me your other hand."

Hestia obediently proffered her other hand; both her hands fit in one of his.

Snape took her little ungloved fingers in his, tapped them his wand and whispered, "_Ignito epidermis_." Instantly she could feel the tingling sensation of warmth crawling up her digits and into her palms. "Now, have a seat, and give that charm time to sink in before you go back out into the cold."

"Thank you," Hestia murmured, taking her hands from his and putting them up to her nose, which was also freezing. "I'll have to remember that one." She sat across from him at one of the small round tables, still shivering inside her coat.

"I have found it useful from time to time." He found his own hands were practically on fire; he hoped it was only from the charm. "Are you certain you won't have a drink?"

"Well… maybe some hot chocolate?"

"Very well." Snape motioned to one of the two aproned barkeeps and got him to take their order. He asked in a normal voice for a black coffee for himself, but added in an undertone that he wanted a heavy shot of firewhiskey mixed in.

Hestia was still staring at him, her nose hidden behind her little hands. The dappled green and brown of her eyes affixed his gaze; those eyes were hypnotic, the childlike sincerity and innocence of the soul behind them a thing of wonder in and of itself. He had never met anyone like her. "You're not talking," she noticed then.

"I suppose I'm unaccustomed to the routine of normal conversation," he apologized roughly. "I have not the jovial disposition most people find pleasing, and so for the most part I go about my business without speaking any more than is necessary. I apologize if you thought me rude before. That was not my intention."

Hestia nodded slowly. "That's okay, but… do you never smile?"

Snape did not answer; he looked self-conscious, and pressed his lips into a narrow line.

"I'm sorry," she said instantly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was a stupid question, especially for me. I know how it feels to be depressed."

Again, Snape seemed befuddled. "_You, _depressed? Nonsense. I've never seen you without a grin the Cheshire Cat wouldn't envy."

Hestia's eyes practically sparkled with mirth. "What can I say? Sometimes looks are deceiving. Take me. I look like a goofy, happy girl, but in reality I'm a sorry excuse for a witch who can't seem to keep a job now I'm back in Britain, and who has no friends. And _you_…" She lingered, as though hesitant to continue.

"You think I am not what I seem?" Snape prompted sardonically.

Hestia arched her eyebrows. "Oh, please. You may try to look all big and bad, swooping around in your cape like you're Batman or something; but let me just tell you, you're not fooling anybody."

Snape folded his arms and sat back in his chair. "All right, then, Miss Jones, you have my attention. What's really beneath the black exterior? And… who on earth is Batman? The product of some Animagus transformation gone horribly wrong?"

"I take it you don't watch many Muggle movies, or you'd know who Batman is," Hestia chortled. Their drinks arrived, and she paused until the barman left, staring down at the self-stirring sugar straw that was making its rounds in her cup. "As for the other question… I don't think you're ready to hear what I would say." She sipped her cocoa, never breaking eye contact.

"I'm not afraid of you," Snape replied silkily, though he took a heavy swig of his firewhiskey-laced coffee.

"But are you afraid of _you_?" she asked gently. "I'm just warning you; I have this awful knack of seeing people for what they really are, and most of the time, they really _don't _want to know."

Snape considered that. "Just tell me," he muttered at last, chugging back another mouthful.

"Okay. If you want. But remember, you asked." Hestia sighed softly. "The 'black exterior,' as you called it, is just a mask you hide behind. I've gotta admit, it's a good disguise - it fools nearly everyone. The kids at Hogwarts are scared to death of you, my nephew included. But you've never fooled me. I know you have a good heart. You're just afraid to trust people, because you've been hurt really deeply, and you've never recovered from it. You don't know how many times I've thought of you and wondered what happened to make you so sad."

Snape gulped uncomfortably, swishing his coffee around in its cup. Hestia sympathetically peered back at him. Her eyes seemed to radiate with an almost otherworldly light, offering without words all the unconditional love and acceptance no one else ever had. Severus marveled that she had not sprouted a set of feathered wings and a halo. Staring at her from across the table, he could no longer deny her interest, nor even his own. But emotions that had lain dormant inside him for years began to rise and grow insistent; already they were beginning to overwhelm him. He felt dizzy, confused, detached from his surroundings. He wanted to get away, somewhere, anywhere, so long as he did not have to bear the scrutiny of Hestia's haunting hazel eyes.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked. "I said too much, didn't I? Leave it to me to finally meet a nice guy and then scare him off with my big mouth."

"Miss Jones…" Severus tried meeting her gaze but had to look away, unable to face those shining eyes and say what he was about to say. "You've done nothing wrong. I asked your opinion and you have given it to me. I confess, I am exceedingly flattered by the fact that you have more than once looked my way and thought kindly of me, and I believe everything you have said to be sincere. I do not think you are capable of being _in_sincere, a fact I regard as a strange anomaly, as I have never before met a person who plainly refused to lie." He gave her something that resembled a pained smirk. "As charming as that is, and you undoubtedly are, I feel obligated to look after your own best interests in this matter. I … I am touched by your pity -"

"_Pity_?" she cut in sharply, seeming almost offended. "Is that what you think -"

"- but you have too much to offer to waste your attentions on a confirmed old bachelor like myself, who could not possibly think to deserve you, and who could only make you unhappy." He exhaled a long, rattled breath. "Do you understand?"

"So you think you're sparing me." It was a statement, not a question. "Do you think so little of yourself?"

Snape hung his head, staring down into the blackness of his coffee. "I think too much of you."

Hestia caught her breath. She tried to think of a fitting reply, but words failed her; he had rejected her, not because he didn't want her, but because he thought she was too good for him. Not knowing what else to do, she stood, shrugging her messenger bag over her neck and pausing to look at him. The sight was heartbreaking. Snape was visibly troubled, so much so that in his present state he couldn't frighten even the meekest of Hogwarts' children. Hestia was torn. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew he would never allow it. He just wasn't ready. All that could be said now was goodbye. But she would make the goodbye worth remembering.

Snape's heart nearly stopped as he felt something warm against his cheek; her lips had brushed there, a sad breath following them and leaving a hollow coldness behind. "I just want you to know, you don't think any more of me than I do of you," she whispered in his ear. "I hope you find peace." And then she was gone, the bell over the door ringing with an almost sepulchral tenor in her wake.

Snape trembled in his chair. The firewhiskey burned in his throat, along with all the words he had wanted to say and could not muster.

ooo LL ooo

Hermione was so distracted by Harry's anger at Sirius Black being his parents' betrayer that she nearly forgot that it would be the last night she got to see Draco before Christmas; he'd be going home the next day. Once the trio returned from Hagrid's hut, she excused herself and promised to catch up to them in the common room. The boys didn't need to know that she had another stop to make first.

Hiding in the lavatory, she used the Time Turner to go back to earlier that day, just after they'd come back from Hogsmeade. She avoided the path she'd used coming back to the castle the first time and took other staircases and halls, finally arriving at the abandoned History of Magic room that had become like a second home.

Draco was waiting for her. His long, thin legs swung boyishly back and forth as he sat on the old professor's desk, his pointed face beaming as she locked the door back behind her.

Hermione came to him, no words necessary as she stood in front of him and held his waist, leaning her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. "I can't believe I won't see you again before Christmas," she said at last.

"Don't say your goodbyes," he asked of her, "at least, not yet. I haven't even given you your present." He reached behind of him and retrieved the jewelry box in its gaily wrapped package and bow. "This is for you, Hermione. Open it."

"Draco… you didn't have to," she blushed as she took the gift in her hands.

"Oh, you mean you didn't get me anything? In that case, let's have it back." He jokingly reached for the box.

Hermione drew back, shaking her head and laughing at him. "Nonsense. Yours is in my bag." She motioned to the floor, where it had fallen. "Let me get it and we'll open them at the same time."

"All right."

Hermione pulled a long, thin box from her satchel, elegantly wrapped in green and silver. "Here we are."

Together they undid the wrapping about their gifts. Draco's was a stylish new quill and a bottle of green ink, with a note inside that said '_Property of the Tea and Scones Society: To Be Used Only By Vice-President_.' Draco grinned. "I believe that's one of the most thoughtful gifts I've ever received. Thank you."

"I hoped you'd like it. Besides, what do you get for the boy who has everything?" She cast him a broad smile, only then looking into her own box. Her brown eyes widened and her mouth made an 'o' as she took the necklace up in her fingers and admired it. "Draco, it's beautiful." She touched the green and red stones that made up the heart, knowing perfectly well what they meant - Gryffindor and Slytherin - the union of opposites. "Put it on me?"

She turned and let him fasten the clasp behind her neck, jumping a little as his lips brushed the sensitive area just beneath her hair. Draco smirked. He liked that he could still affect her that way. It meant she was all his. "There. Turn round, and let's see it."

Hermione whirled round, bushy curls still caught in her hand, the loving glow of her smile enough to light up the dreary old room. Draco sucked in a shaky breath. _She's so beautiful_, he thought, _and she doesn't even know_.

"Well? What do you think?" she asked nervously.

"Come back here and I'll show you what I think." His answer was to slide down from the desk and deliver her a swift kiss, her face cupped dearly in his hands. It was the deepest, truest kiss he'd ever given her; Hermione was left practically gasping for breath. When they parted, for a moment she thought she saw the shimmer of a tear forming in his eyes, before he blinked and it was gone. "Will you promise to think of me while I'm away?"

Hermione fingered the heart pendant she now wore around her neck. "Of course, I promise. And will you -"

"You don't even have to ask," he interrupted, stroking her hair, memorizing every wild curl and frazzle. "You know I'll be thinking of you nearly every minute."

"Draco…" She paused, almost afraid to violate the happiness of the moment. "Are you at all afraid to go home?"

His hand stopped moving. "Hermione…"

"I'm sorry," she murmured, seeing his distress. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I guess I was just -"

"Worried about me?"

She nodded, lips pressed together. "Every time I hear _he's _come here, or that you're going home… my stomach just goes into knots. I just can't bear to think... I mean, I just don't know what I'd do if... if something _happened_..."

Draco exhaled softly. "Better take care, Granger. What if I were to get the idea that you actually cared about me?"

Despite herself, she smiled, loosing a trembling laugh. "You said that once before."

"I'm flattered you remember."

Hermione scoffed. "It's not every day you go visit your worst enemy in the hospital and end up kissing him."

"_I _kissed _you_," Draco reminded her cheekily. "And as I recall, we weren't enemies then."

"Were we ever?" she wondered aloud, genuinely considering the question.

"We're not now, and that's what counts to me. Hermione, I promise I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. It's only a little more than a week, and then I'll be right back here. All right?"

She nodded mutely, wishing she could say that she wouldn't spend every minute concerned over him, afraid he'd say the wrong thing and his father would do something awful. "I already miss you," she whispered instead, cuddling one more time into the warmth of his embrace. She might have been best friends with one of the world's bravest and most powerful wizards, but there was no place Hermione Granger felt safer than locked in Draco Malfoy's arms. She only wished she could keep him so safe in her own.


	13. A Lonely Holiday

Sometime during the night of Christmas Eve, Draco Malfoy woke to a long-forgotten smell that made home a little more worth coming home to: his mother's hot cocoa. He knew as his eyelids fluttered open that he would find a very specific scene awaiting him downstairs in the kitchen. His elegant mother would be swathed in a silk robe, golden-white hair spilling over her shoulders. There would be two mugs on the table, one for each of them, filled with a rich, almost bitter chocolate dappled lightly with cinnamon and topped with froth. The chocolate was her own concoction; it was the one thing she would not allow the house-elves to prepare for her. Draco never knew quite where she had picked up the knack, but these midnight treats were comparable to any rich sweet he'd ever tasted, and wealth had denied him none.

He descended the stairs and ambled to the kitchen, blond hair mussed awkwardly from sleep, and smirked winsomely as Narcissa looked up at him. "Waiting up for Father Christmas, are we, Mother?"

Narcissa offered the ghost of a grin. "Only to make certain he leaves my son the very _best _gift. Come, sit down. I want to talk to you while your father is asleep."

"I thought you might," Draco admitted, taking the chair across from her and reaching for his mug. "Did you get my note?"

"I did." Narcissa took a slow sip, never taking her icy eyes from their locked position with his. "Draco… please tell me you haven't done what I think you've done. Tell me you haven't started fancying some… well, someone unworthy of you."

"You mean a _Mudblood_, Mother?" Draco grumbled, rolling his eyes. "If that's what you mean, just say it."

"Draco!" she scolded, putting her mug down. "There is no need for that kind of language."

Draco made a face. "You can't tell me that word never gets used in this house. I'm certain Father uses it at least ten times a day."

Narcissa sighed deeply, finally looking away. "Perhaps so, but you are _not _your father."

"No. I'm not," Draco hastily agreed. "And if you don't want me to end up like him, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to agree with the way he thinks."

Narcissa met his gaze again with that peculiar look in her eye. He bit the bullet and took a deep drink of cocoa. Draco knew she was about to give him one of her rehearsed 'pureblood obligation' speeches, which no doubt she'd had drilled into her head by that _dear _old harridan Grandmother Black a thousand times before dutifully marrying Lucius Malfoy.

"Draco, we belong to the upper echelon of wizarding society, and with our privilege comes responsibility. Some middle- and lower-class wizards have intermarried with Muggles, it's true; this has to be, or magical blood would have died out almost entirely. But pure wizarding blood will always set us above others, Draco. We have to set an example."

"For whom are we setting this exalted example, Mother?" Draco scoffed. "Those middle- and lower-class wizards you were just talking about, who live their lives as they please anyway? Do you think they care one bit how we live our lives, as long as it doesn't affect them?"

"Draco -"

"No, Mother, let me finish. You did what was expected of you by your family, and how have you been rewarded? You're not happy. I know you and Father don't love each other; at least not now, if you ever really did. Why are you pushing me so hard toward a life that will probably end in making me miserable, too? Is that what you want for me?"

"I want what is _best _for you." She glanced around as though uncertain; her voice dropped to scarcely above a whisper, and only then continued. "I understand your feelings; I too felt trapped by my circumstances when I was your age. But Draco, you _know _whose house you live in. You know what he expects of you… and of me. I personally disagree with your choice; I would prefer you be seen socially with a nice pureblood witch. But my opinion is nothing next to _his_. Draco, if he were ever to find out that you liked this girl…"

"_Hermione_, Mother," Draco quietly informed her, gripping his mug a little tightly. "Her name is Hermione Granger."

"I remember that name," Narcissa realized with a start. "You mentioned her before, didn't you? She was the one who -" Her voice caught. "Yes, I do remember."

Draco hung his head. Lucius had not minced words about his disappointment, making Draco ashamed of the fact that "a girl of no wizarding family" had been first in her class and not him in his first year. It was because of her success and his failure that her name had been brought up - because of her that his father knew it was time to begin the relentless indoctrination of pureblood superiority which had only progressed over the past year and a half. It seemed ironic that it was she would be the thorn in Lucius's side to prove his theory wrong in two ways: that a Mudblood could be more intelligent than a pureblood, and that the first could be desirable to the latter.

He suddenly recalled that day in Diagon Alley at the beginning of second year, when he'd been watching her from the balcony in the bookstore. Why had she caught his gaze? It couldn't have been for hatred or resentment; Potter was a much more likely target for those emotions, and he had also been within view. And the way his father had approached her, almost ignoring Potter as easily as he had… Draco struggled to remember his exact words. "_And you must be… Miss Granger. Oh yes, Draco's told me all about you. And your parents_."

_Oh, Merlin_. Draco felt that he was going to be sick. _Father knew. Even then, he could see it, before I ever did. If I couldn't hide my feelings then when I wasn't even aware of them… how will I ever keep this secret from him now?_

There was a pregnant pause as Narcissa watched the emotions roil inside her son. At length, she continued. "Draco, listen to me very carefully. If Lucius were ever to discover your feelings for this girl, it would put her in great danger. I do not know… what he would do to _you_."

"I know." His insides were still shaking. _He knows, he knows... even if he doesn't know, he suspects_...

"You haven't thought this through," Narcissa inveigled him in his dismay, reaching out to take his hands in hers, "not really. I know how much you want this, but Draco, it simply cannot be. For her sake as much as yours, you have to put an end to it. Now, before it goes any further."

Draco's head jerked up, offended and hurt at the suggestion, but his countenance changed as soon as he felt her hands trembling in his grasp. "Mother…"

Silver tears were sliding down Narcissa's narrow cheekbones. "Please, Draco, listen to reason. Think of me. What would I do if something happened to you? You're all I have."

Something in Draco's heart fractured. He'd been ready to defend his feelings for Hermione, to say that he'd done all he could to keep it secret so Lucius's precious 'Malfoy name' wouldn't get sullied, but it was a rare moment indeed when Narcissa's cold front melted enough for her to show emotion, let alone cry. Feeling secure in the knowledge that his father was asleep and wouldn't be privy to the sight of them actually letting down their guard, Draco rose from his chair and went to her, holding his mother close as she wept. "It's all right, Mother. Everything's going to be all right, I promise."

Somewhere close within the manor, there was a rough exhale, and a door softly, almost imperceptibly was shut.

ooo LL ooo

Hermione curled up in the window seat and cuddled into her warm robe. She placed one hand against the frozen glass, peering out over the pristine, white-blanketed Hogwarts grounds, where the sun was just beginning to rise. _Here it is. Christmas morning. It's so beautiful outside… _

Her other hand impulsively grazed the heart pendant Malfoy had given her. _I really do miss Mum and Dad. I hate that I couldn't be with them, but I know Harry needed us to stay, and he's like family to me too. _She bit her lip, remembering the other loved one she was missing on Christmas morning. _I wonder what Draco's doing. I do hope everything's all right…_

"_Mrow_?" Crookshanks mewed at the lovelorn Gryffindor with his squashed orange face.

"Come here, Crookshanks." Hermione pulled the cat into her lap, where he began to purr contentedly. He even stopped chasing the bit of tinsel she had given him to play with. Retrieving it from the floor, Hermione wound it round his neck, then began to pet him absentmindedly. "It's lonely in here, isn't it, Crookshanks, with all the other girls gone? Why don't we go and see Harry, hmm?"

Hermione donned her dressing-gown and whisked a reluctantly-woken Crookshanks down the stairs to find Harry and Ron already digging into their presents. The two excitedly related that Harry had been gifted with an extraordinary broom, without any clue as to who had sent it.

Hermione reflexively flinched. Her keen wits instantly surmised that this might be a trap. Inwardly, she supposed that the Firebolt could be from Sirius Black. If he'd earned Harry's parents' trust, he must be quite clever - ingenious enough to find just such a tempting Trojan Horse. Wasn't it common knowledge that Harry was a gifted Seeker, and needed a broom? Sirius Black had been sighted not far from Hogsmeade. Couldn't he have heard this bit of news and played it to his advantage, thinking in his time of need Harry might use the broom without question?

But the boys wouldn't hear a word against the magnificent Firebolt, no matter how well-meant. They even seemed upset with her for doubting the gift's authenticity. _Why do they have to be so infuriating_? she testily wondered. _Well, they may not listen to me, but I know someone they will _have _to listen to, whether they want to or not_. And with that thought she relaxed, knowing Harry would have to realize she only had his best interests at heart, and that her quick thinking would keep him safe from harm.

_But I stayed to give Harry good company and friendship at Christmas, so I at least need to get along with the boys, even if I think they're wrong_. She was doing her best not to be offended and had just succeeded in regaining some of her cheer when Crookshanks began chasing Scabbers again, which naturally ended in yet another row with Ron. Angry with him for being so ridiculous about the stupid rat, which had probably outlived all its relatives anyway, Hermione did as Ron requested and locked Crookshanks in her room, but only for Harry's sake. Christmas or not, she'd nearly had enough of Ronald Weasley's bad attitude towards both her and her cat, and so remained unapologetically bitter towards him for the rest of the morning. _After all, you'd think Ron would be more concerned over Harry's life and my friendship than a broom or a rat_!

_Apparently not_, her conscience commented smugly as she departed to get ready for lunch, and Ron had yet to apologize or even seem contrite.

After her shower she brushed her hair slowly, daydreaming. She fingered the heart pendant, the jewels warmed by her skin, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Hermione did a double-take. _Is that really me_? It was the same Hermione in the looking-glass that she had always known, but this girl was more radiant, more confident, more alive somehow. A tinkly sort of laugh escaped her throat. _This must have been what Mum was talking about. She said you glow when you fancy someone and they fancy you back. I used to think it was just one of those silly romantic things she said - but no. She was absolutely right_. She eyed her reflection approvingly, smiling at how the necklace's simple touch of elegance seemed to complement her newfound confidence. It was an amazing discovery for Hermione Granger; never in her life had had the lonesome bookish girl believed herself to be the least bit pretty, until now.

_Thank you, Malfoy. This really is the best Christmas present I could ever have asked for… and it's one you don't even know you've given me._

Later she rejoined the boys, silently daring them to question the presence of the heart pendant, which she now wore openly over her jumper. But they didn't. _I suppose they must think it was a present from Mum and Dad_, Hermione thought, shrugging it off. _If they've even noticed it at all. That wouldn't surprise me. These _are _the same two who didn't see the trapdoor Fluffy was guarding first year… ugh. Boys. Always oblivious._

_But why do I care if they see it_? Hermione suddenly pondered. _I've been scared to death Ginny or Ron would get too close to the truth all year, and now I'm practically parading Draco's present to me, hoping the boys will notice. What's wrong with me? _And then it struck her head like a cartoon anvil. _I _want _them to see that I'm taken. That someone could actually want me as a girl and not just a walking, talking cheat-sheet. That… that _Malfoy _wants me in a way they would never think to... That my supposed enemy saw the good in me more easily than my supposed best friends…_

_Oh! Dumb, dumb, _dumb _Hermione! You can't let that show; what are you thinking? Get a hold of yourself_…_ Honestly, Hermione, you really have to pull yourself together; it's Malfoy's neck and the end of your friendship with Harry and Ron if you fall apart now…_

Unconscious of her inner dialogue, Harry leaned over to Ron and whispered, "Hermione's being a little odd over there. Do you think she's all right?"

"As much as usual," Ron murmured back, shaking his head. Hermione's mouth moved as though she was talking to herself, utterly unaware of their presence. "I've said it before and I'll say it again - she's _mental,_ that one. Absolutely mental."

ooo LL ooo

Severus Snape sat at the smaller table Dumbledore had set up for Christmas dinner, staring blankly at his empty plate. He and the other professors who usually remained at Hogwarts for the holidays were awaiting the arrival of the few students who had elected to stay. The others, of course, were engaged in pleasant conversation and general merriment; he, of course, stayed silent and was expected to take no part in it. That's how it had always been. Snape was especially glad of that this year, as that disastrous day in Diagon Alley kept replaying in his mind at the most inopportune moments. He wanted nothing more than to sit and to sulk in his moroseness until supper, and then to escape to his dungeon and be alone.

Christmas being a time of goodwill, he had sent Hestia a peace offering, though he knew no gift or apology could undo the damage his rejection had done. It seemed almost inconceivable that the young witch could sincerely want him, yet he had watched as her heart cracked like a fragile porcelain figurine beneath a hammer's hard stroke. Even still, she had behaved as no other witch in England would have done. Hestia's overwhelming kindness in the face of her disappointment was astonishing; anyone else would have slapped or cursed him, rather than kissed his cheek and wished him well. Her response had almost made him regret his choice to push her away, even if it _had _been for her own good.

_But what could I have said that would have made her understand? She is naive as a babe, trusting and gentle; she knows only goodness; she has never glimpsed true evil. How could I have explained to her all the darkness of my past, the shadows lurking in my memories that, had I not trained my mind diligently, would have long since driven me mad? I thought once I could love, until... No, I will not dwell on the past. Whatever pain I inflicted was necessary. I will not resurrect this wretched heart of mine only to kill it a second time. And I will not damn hers by attaching it to mine._

His head jerked up as he saw Harry Potter approaching, flanked by his faithful friends. Snape's dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the Boy Who Lived. _Fitting title indeed_, he thought spitefully, _I only hope he honors the gift of that life. It was dearly bought_. His gaze merely flickered over Arthur Weasley's son, who seemed nearly as unpromising a wizard as Neville Longbottom. _Both living proof that the Dark Lord is clearly mistaken about the superiority of pureblooded wizards_, Snape reasoned snidely. _That Muggleborn girl Granger has more talent than both of them put together, and then some. I - _

Snape's breath caught as he examined Hermione Granger more closely. She had obviously taken greater pains with her appearance than usual, as her hair seemed a little less frazzled and was caught up in a clasp, but that was not what drew Snape's attention. A jeweled pendant hung from her neck - a single heart of emeralds and rubies - catching the glow of the fairy-lights that decorated the Great Hall with a singular brilliance. With the force of an arrow, a pain ripped through his heart, driving all other thoughts from his mind. _No. It cannot be_…

"Cracker?" Dumbledore was offering, holding the favor out to him with a smile.

That brought him back to his senses for the moment, and though with a glare, he took the other end. When it revealed another of his shames - the dreaded vulture's hat that his boggart double had worn thanks to that rotten Longbottom - Snape stared daggers at it. _Have you no mercy?_! he thought angrily, knowing full well that Dumbledore could hear his every thought. _Didn't you just see _-

_I did_, Dumbledore replied into his mind as easily as though they were conversing aloud, _but I had to do something to distract you. You must compose yourself, Severus. I've seen many a Muggle necklace that resembles the one I saw in your memory. It was probably a gift from her parents. Truly, I do not think it is _that _one_.

_Yes, Headmaster. _Snape's inner voice sounded dubious.

Dumbledore merrily put the vulture's hat on his own head, outwardly showing no sign of their mental tête-à-tête. All seemed forgotten as far as the headmaster was concerned by the time McGonagall and Trelawney had their banter over prophecies and mad axe-men, but Snape's heart, the heart he had thought dead and withered inside until very recently, still felt as though it were in a grinder.

ooo LL ooo

Far away, a small crowd of children was tugging at Hestia Jones, chasing her around a sparkling decorated tree and tattered shreds of paper and open boxes, begging her to sing the song.

"_No_!" she cried, laughing shrilly. She collapsed on the couch and was instantly pounced upon. "No! I've already sung it five times and I tell you, I'll not do it again!"

"Oh, come on, one more time!" Among them, her nephew Henry's face was especially pleading. "_Pleeeeeease_!!"

"Ugh! Fine, _one _more time. The first one that asks after that, Aunt Hesty's gonna jinx." She held out her wand threateningly and made a sour face that only succeeded in being hilarious. "All right, here we go."

And with a voice sweet as her nature, which made it all the more wrong, Hestia began to sing with the kids chiming in, "_Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve_…"

"Oh, Merlin, not that awful Muggle song _again_," said Debra, shaking her head at her husband Trevor as they set the table in the next room for supper. The other adult members of the family were upstairs either napping or dressing. "Can't you do _anything _with that sister of yours?"

Trevor might have replied, had not two owls carrying a cheerfully-wrapped gift box soared down onto the porch just beyond the kitchen door. "I'll get it," he offered, glad to be away from his wife's griping. He had to shake off the snow from his shoes as he came inside. Before Debra could even open her mouth to ask, he called out for Hestia.

"Yeah?" she replied, appearing in the doorway with a false set of antlers on her head, obviously props to make the ridiculous song even funnier. The children were gathered like a human hoop-skirt around her person.

"For you," Trevor replied, handing his sister the red-wrapped gift with a silver bow.

"_Me_? Who'd get _me _anything?" Hestia removed the antlers and raised a quizzical eyebrow as she took the package in her little hands and studied it, finding no mention of the sender.

"Hey, _we _got you presents!" her golden-curled niece Jenny pouted defensively.

"I meant _besides _you, goofy," Hestia chuckled, affectionately petting her head. "Huh. I guess I should open it."

"That's generally what one does with presents," Debra said scathingly from the kitchen.

Hestia stuck out her tongue at the kitchen doorway, not caring if Debra could see her. "Okay, well, let's see what the mysterious Owly Claus has brought me this year! Who wants to bet it's a lump of coal, huh?" Making a facetious face, she tore into the shiny scarlet wrapping and, with a gasp, removed a pair of lilac gloves made of the softest, warmest material she'd ever felt. "But… who…" Removing the gloves from the box, she found that a note had been tucked inside, nearly hidden in the wrapping paper.

"Can I see?" Jenny asked, taking the box and rubbing her face against the gloves. "Ooh, they're so _soft_! Whoever got you these must really like you."

Beside her, Henry's lip curled in horror. "Oh, _ew_! Don't tell me it's from who I _think_!"

But Hestia wasn't listening. Heart burning in her chest, she read the note she had found.

_In case you ever forget the Ignito Epidermis charm, you might need these. __Consider this a peace offering from one who hopes you can forgive me and, perhaps, think of me as a friend. __Wishing you all the best, and Happy Christmas._

_S.S._

ooo LL ooo

"_You did what_?" Hermione mimicked, doing her best impression of Ron for Crookshanks. In her own voice she replied, "Possibly saved Harry's life, not that you care."

"Mrow?" Crookshanks mewed, cocking his furry head to one side.

"Yes. That's pretty much how it went," Hermione fumed, standing and folding her arms as she proceeded to pace about the empty dormitory with only the bandy-legged cat for company. "Those two are way out of line. How can they be so _stupid _about this?"

Sadly, Crookshanks had no brilliant counsel to offer on the subject.

In her heart, Hermione knew she was perfectly justified in telling McGonagall about the Firebolt, and that McGonagall was being sensible in testing it for jinxes. The boys would get over it when they realized the depth of her concern. And if not… "If not, they must not be such true friends after all," she sniffed, sincerely hoping that was not the case.

Flouncing onto her bed, Hermione picked up her quill and began writing furiously in her journal. It was going to be a long, lonely holiday.

ooo LL ooo

Dumbledore went to his Pensieve, studying the swirling patterns of memories collected. At length he found the one he was looking for - a memory he had viewed many times over, but needed to see again just to make certain of something. He immersed himself in the electric blue of the memory, going back to the past, whirling round as though in a twister until the memory began…

_The park was beautiful that day; the rolling slopes were green, the water shimmered in the sunlight, and swans were swimming on the lake. He found her alone by a tree, reading: a young lady with red hair, legs curled underneath, absorbed in her book. He took a few steps closer, then called her name. _"_Lily."_

_At the sound of the deep timbred voice, Lily Evans looked up. "Sniv-I mean, Severus." She caught her lip in her teeth, aware that he'd noticed she almost slipped into calling him by one of James's names for him, and not at all one he liked. "Sorry. What are you doing here?"_

"_I wanted to talk to you," he began tentatively, "about a matter of some importance to me. I was hoping I'd find you here." The younger version of Severus Snape had a look on his face that would seem strange there now; he was almost buoyant._

"_Well, here I am." Lily smiled. "Sit down; I could use a break from reading anyway."_

_Severus did so, then picked up the book and turned it in his hands. "Charms for Advanced Wizarding Levels. Well, I'm impressed. Out of Hogwarts all this time, and you're still studying."_

"_If you don't use it, you lose it," Lily replied, repeating something her Muggle mother had said. "So, what's on your mind?"_

"_First, let me ask you a question… do you consider me a friend?"_

_Lily shrugged. "Well, yes. I know we can't be the best of chums since you and James don't exactly get on well together, but I've always thought of you as a friend. When you'd let me."_

_Snape smiled softly at that, remembering that once in his embarrassment he'd called her a Mudblood and made her think he hated her; oh, how far that was from the truth. "I was a boy then. Children grow up."_

"_I know. Severus, have you ever thought about being a parent?"_

_Snape had nearly lost his composure at that. "I… I confess, I have not."_

"_I think I'd like to be a mother." Lily's eyes grew dreamy. "Maybe someday. Oh, but I forgot, we were talking about you! You were going to tell me something."_

_Snape's heart had almost visibly caught in his chest. Had she been insinuating that she'd like to have a child with him? "I was. This may not be the best place or time, but I feel as though I'll explode if I don't at least try to say it. Lily, I think of you as a friend too… but not _only _as a friend."_

_Lily's face changed; her smile was gone. "Severus, what are you saying?"_

"_You're the only real friend I've ever had. Everyone else, your circle of close friends certainly included, has either made sport of me or despised me; but never you. You showed me kindness when I had started to believe there was none in the world, and I came to think very highly of you for it. To… to care for you." __His hands fumbled inside his robes, withdrawing a little box. He opened it, revealing a simple but tasteful necklace, a golden chain with a heart pendant of rubies and emeralds. "This is for you. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, but I want you to have it, so you'll always know how highly I think of you."_

"_It's beautiful," Lily admitted, staring at it instead of him, "and thoughtful as well. I'm touched, Severus; for your kind words as much as this. But… I can't accept it."_

_Snape pursed his lips. "You think your boyfriend Potter won't like my giving you a gift?"_

_Lily shook her head sadly. "I think my _fiancée_, James Potter, will think you're trying to romance me and come after you."_

"_Fiancée?" His voice almost cracked._

_Lily nodded. "I'm so sorry, Severus." She handed back the necklace, closing her hands around his as he took it. "Truly, I didn't know. I never meant to hurt you. I… I hope we can still be friends."_

Dumbledore had seen more than enough. The elderly wizard withdrew from the Pensieve, shaking his bearded head. _So… Hermione Granger really does have the jewel that was meant for Lily Potter. Strange turn of events indeed. But how could she have come by it? And of even more concern… what will poor Severus do when he discovers that it really is the necklace he thought?_

ooo LL ooo

**A/N: I know the books have no precedent for a mental conversation like Snape and Dumbledore's, but I figured two of the most accomplished wizarding minds in the field of Legilimency and nonverbal spell usage would have no problem hearing thoughts if someone else didn't block them.**


	14. The Necessity of Friendship

A long, lonely shadow traced the ground ahead of Hestia Jones as she trudged alone down the snow-covered sidewalk outside her brother's home. Only a few dimly-lit streetlamps illuminated her path. The windows of the neighboring houses were all dark, as though some prankster had run past with a Put-Outer; the families within them peacefully slept. _If only I could sleep as easily tonight_, Hestia thought, her breath turning to a frosty mist as she sighed. She had hoped to settle the restive whirlwind unleashed in her mind by the unexpected gift's arrival, or at least be distracted by the frigid weather until she could be at peace enough to rest. But it seemed that the cold night air only made her thoughts even clearer, and all her thoughts were of _him_.

_Don't do this_! her mind screamed as tears froze to her cheeks. _You always fall too fast, and you always fall on your face when the guy doesn't want you, and it hurts like hell. You know your heart can't take much more of this. Don't be Little Miss Nice Girl this time, not for nothing. If he just wants a friend, let him look somewhere else. You're worth too much to be someone's emotional crutch while they go find themselves another lover and leave you lonely_.

"But what if _'just a friend' _is all I'll ever be to anyone?" Hestia retorted aloud, trembling, and not just with the cold. "I don't even have any friends now; not anymore. Nobody wants me for _anything_. Not for a job, not for love, not even for friendship. He probably just feels sorry for me anyway, and that's why he said he wants to be friends. I should stop fooling myself. Get it through your head, Hestia! Nobody has ever really wanted you. And no one ever will."

Hestia glanced down at the new lilac gloves which kept her little fingers so comfortably snug and warm, a gasping sob echoing through the empty street, then hugged her arms around her shoulders and kept crunching forward in the dark.

ooo LL ooo

Trussed up in her Gryffindor scarf and wearing her thickest coat, Hermione cut the path down to Hagrid's. It was dangerous to be walking the grounds alone with the dementors searching for Sirius Black on the loose, and she knew it. But loneliness had driven her nearly mad the last few days. Hermione decided that dementors or no dementors, she refused to go stir-crazy just because the boys were being ridiculous about the fact that she'd gone to McGonagall. _And if one attacks me while I'm out here with no one to see that I've gone missing, it'll be their fault_, she thought matter-of-factly. _To think… I gave up my holidays, my time with my parents, for this. It's just absolutely unfair_.

Thankfully the dementors were nowhere near Hagrid's hut. The bearded half-giant was outside feeding Buckbeak dead ferrets, tossing their limp bodies into the hippogriff's beak. He waved when he saw Hermione coming. She noticed as she got closer why Buckbeak hadn't been prancing about as usual; a thick metal cuff was placed round his neck, chained to a post nearby in the pumpkin patch. The hippogriff could only take a few steps comfortably without being jerked back. Hermione couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor beast. A pang of anger renewed her vendetta against Lucius Malfoy for making this creature's life as miserable as he tried to make everyone else's.

"All righ', Hermione?" Hagrid asked with a smile.

"Fine, thanks," she replied, "how about you, Hagrid?"

"Ah, I've been better. Just grieves me to keep Buckbeak all tied up like this when he should be flying free," he related, patting Buckbeak's head and motioning her inside. "Where are Harry and Ron? Seems a bit odd to see one of you without the other two."

"They're not speaking to me," Hermione shrugged as though it didn't matter.

Hagrid closed the door behind her, his bushy eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Wha'? I don't believe it." He glanced around for a moment as though expecting the boys to pop out and say _Fooled You_!

"It's true," she affirmed. "Since Christmas Day."

"Well, what for? I can't think of any reason anyone should think badly of you, Hermione."

His smile was heart-warming, and she was grateful for it. "Thanks, Hagrid. It's… well, Harry received an anonymous Christmas present. A Firebolt."

"A Firebolt?" Hagrid gasped. "That's some broom!"

"Yes," Hermione agreed a little sharply, hoping Hagrid wouldn't agree with Harry and Ron and spoil her visit. "But why would someone give Harry the world's best and fastest broom without telling him who it was from? It doesn't make any sense. Unless…"

Hagrid stroked his beard thoughtfully between his large fingers for a moment, then abruptly stopped. "You mean, unless it was from Sirius Black?"

A frisson of relief washed over Hermione. "Exactly," she exhaled, glad she hadn't had to spell it out for Hagrid at least. "I know it's not the only possibility, and maybe there's nothing wrong with it at all. But to be on the safe side, I told Professor McGonagall. She took the broom and is in the process of conducting tests to make sure it's not dangerous. If it's safe for Harry to fly, she'll give it straight back. If not… then we've spared Harry from something awful."

Hagrid nodded his agreement. "You did right, Hermione. Professor McGonagall is the most sensible witch I've ever met. If she thinks the broom needs to be tested, it does, and that's the end of it." He paused then. "So why are Harry and Ron upset with you? I can't understand it."

"Well, I suppose it seems silly when I say it, but the boys were awfully serious about it." Hermione folded her arms and finally took a seat. "They won't come anywhere near me. They think I betrayed them by going to McGonagall - that I should have kept their secret - that I should have wanted Harry to keep the broom no matter what, so Gryffindor could win at Quidditch."

"But that's not fair!" Hagrid exclaimed. "You were tryin' to save Harry's life, not sabotage the Gryffindor Quidditch team! I think I should give those two a good talking-to -"

"No!" Hermione said quickly. "I appreciate the offer, really, but I don't want them to feel like they _have _to be friends with me again. They should _want _to be, on their own."

"But aren't you awfully _lonely_?" Hagrid asked, concerned. "I mean, you spend all your time with those two. And didn't you stay over Christmas just for Harry? Not very thoughtful of him to leave you hanging like this, away from your Mum and Dad at the holidays an' all, and on account of him."

Hermione gave a weak smile and shrugged. "Well, there's always the library. And you, of course."

Hagrid angrily shook his head. "All righ', Hermione. I'll do what you want; I won't say a word to Harry or Ron if they come visit. But I still think it's right stupid of the pair of them, because you're too good a friend to let go over something like tha'." Standing, he turned back to her. "Why don't you stay for a cup of tea? Then I'll walk you back to the castle. Can't be too careful with all these dementors flyin' about."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"By the way," he said as he put the tea kettle on, "that's quite a pretty necklace you've got on. _That _wouldn't happen to be from Harry or Ron, would it?"

"No," Hermione grinned, thinking of Malfoy, "it was from… someone else."

"Ooh, a secret admirer?" Hagrid asked over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eye.

"Something like that," Hermione laughed, blushing slightly.

"Had to happen sooner or later," Hagrid approvingly nodded, "and between you and me, now I've heard this business of Harry and Ron being a couple of nitwits over a stupid broomstick, I'm just as glad it's not one of them. Serves 'em right, I say!"

Hagrid's loyalty was touching, especially as he'd always been so close to Harry in particular. Hermione found herself nearly on the verge of tears with it. They talked of Buckbeak then, and Hagrid explained that the Ministry had ordered him to keep him chained up for the time being. _I'll help you fight the Ministry on this, Hagrid_, Hermione thought resolutely. _You've stood by me at a time I wasn't sure anyone would. Now I'll stand by you and Buckbeak, no matter what_.

ooo LL ooo

Draco sped down the hallway, a jocund smile parting his narrow cheeks as he left his and Hermione's secret meeting place. She'd seemed a little out of spirits from the holidays, but so had he. Still, just being in her presence again was food for his soul, and he was grateful for every stolen moment. To minimize the chance of anyone's finding out, they had been leaving separately. This time he'd sent Hermione before him, the necklace that was the emblem of his feelings for her proudly displayed on her chest.

Though he knew it was upsetting Hermione, Draco couldn't help feeling a little gratified to hear that her friendship with Potty and the Weasel was on hiatus. _Those two clearly lack brains of their own, always depending on her to think for them, _he thought protectively. _It'll do her good to be without them awhile. At least she won't be so dreadfully overworked as usual (doing homework for three instead of one) - and maybe she can even get some time to do something for herself. Wouldn't that be a novelty_...

He hadn't mentioned his conversation with Narcissa to Hermione. _No sense in worrying her needlessly_, he reasoned. _I'm sure she's got enough on her mind_. His father had behaved very strangely in the period from Christmas to New Year, but he had chosen not to mention that either. Outwardly Lucius had seemed almost chipper, eager to grant his wife and son's every holiday wish for happiness, even taking them for a cheerful sleigh ride over their extensive property. Yet he was constantly on edge about something, and it showed in his eyes. Draco could only hope that the something did not involve him.

He was nearly to the end of the hall when suddenly Professor Snape was there, blocking his way like a great black wall. A grim look rested on his sallow face. "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted him coldly, "how very unexpected, to find you wandering the corridors so far from the Slytherin dormitories after curfew. A bit foolish, don't you think, as the dementors have taken to wandering these passages of late in their search for Sirius Black?"

Had they? The very notion gave him the willies. "Then what are you doing here?" Draco wondered, raising an eyebrow.

Snape's lips thinned. "It is the prefects' duty to monitor the hallways at night, but there is always at least one professor out as well. I suppose you were unaware of that fact. But _my _presence here can be accounted for. _Yours _cannot."

"I, er…" Draco stuttered, unable to think clearly enough to come up with a clever lie. "I come here to-to be alone sometimes-"

"And sometimes Miss Granger comes with you?" countered Snape. When he saw the color drain from Malfoy's already-pale complexion, he knew at last he'd discovered the truth. "Oh, yes. I saw her coming a few minutes ago, wearing rather proudly a necklace at which she couldn't stop staring. She was so distracted by it that she very nearly ran into me. I gave her a detention and sent her on her way."

_The necklace_, Draco thought, his stomach doing somersaults, _Snape knows_! "Are you going to give me detention as well?" he asked, hoping it would distract him from the fact that he'd found him and Hermione together.

"Your detentions will be served separately," Snape replied, arching his eyebrows, "and yours will begin now. Follow me."

Draco accompanied Snape through the castle, trembling inside as each step brought him nearer to whatever punishment the latter had in mind for him. He couldn't believe it. Snape had never given anyone in his own house a detention unless the headmaster himself had requested it, and here he was, serving a detention with his Head of House over something as trivial as being out after curfew!

_There has to be something else_, Draco reasoned quickly, _something he doesn't want to tell me here, just in case someone could overhear. But what could it be_? It seemed he would have to wait until they reached the dungeons to find out.

Snape led the way only by a fraction, occasionally glancing out the corner of his eye to make certain Draco hadn't buggered off. The folds of Snape's brow and cheeks looked even more menacing in the faint glow of his wandlight; his jaw was set, his long-legged stride severe. As though to prove him right, the ghostly black form of a dementor drifted towards them, getting perilously near. "Stay close to me," Snape hissed in a low voice, approaching the dementor.

"_Sssssiiirrrriiiuuussss Blllaaaaccckk_…" the dementor exhaled, turning its cloaked, faceless head from left to right.

"The passage back that way is clear," Snape informed it authoritatively, holding his chin high to let the foul being know he was not afraid of it. "Keep searching."

The dementor slid past them soundlessly except for its raspy breath, and Snape grabbed Draco's shoulder and pushed him forward. "You should thank your lucky stars I found you when I did," Snape growled at him, "or _it _might have found you first. Dumbledore will hear of this. They're not supposed to be wandering the corridors now, especially not so close to the student quarters - but knowing that would _not _have saved you."

Draco gulped. He recalled vividly that moment on the train when the dementor had all but blatantly attacked him, speaking into his mind, making him relive all his worst memories. He was terrified of whatever Snape was going to say to him or make him do, but not nearly so much as he would have been had that dementor went for him instead. "What about Hermione?" he could help but ask.

Snape's manner softened for just a moment. "She's quite safe, I assure you. Keep up."

At long last they arrived in the dungeons, Snape leading Draco into his office and locking the door behind him. "Be seated," Snape muttered, swooping behind his desk as Draco took the chair opposite him. "I suppose you are wondering why I brought you here."

Draco couldn't help but nod.

"I intend to ask you some questions about what I saw in that hall," Snape replied silkily, "and you will answer them truthfully; if you lie, I shall know it, and your father will be promptly informed of your… _behavior_. Do I make myself clear?"

His heart caught in his chest as he recognized Snape's veiled threat. Again, Draco nodded.

"Is tonight the first night you have met with Hermione Granger in that room?"

Draco fidgeted in his chair; its old springs were not nearly so uncomfortable as Snape's piercing stare. "No, sir."

"For what purpose have the two of you been meeting? And do not dare to tell me it is classwork-related."

Draco shook his blond head back and forth slowly. "She- that is to say, _we_-"

Snape leaned forward and observed him closely. "I'm listening."

"We- we're friends," Draco finished feebly.

"_Friends_. I see." Snape paused for a moment, then rose from his chair and paced around the office. "Friends who have to meet secretly in long-abandoned corners of Hogwarts where no one can see them?"

"Professor, no offense, but do you know the Slytherin or Gryffindor who wouldn't raise bloody hell if they saw the two of us talking civilly to one another, let alone as friends?"

Snape's face changed; it seemed haunted in a way. He halted in midstep and stared out the only window at the cloud-covered moon. "Slytherins and Gryffindors have never been known to get along, Mr. Malfoy, for any lengthy period of time. There have been few enough friendships shared between them over the last hundred years, and not one has lasted for the duration at Hogwarts. I myself once had such a friendship, which began prior to our arrival at Hogwarts; we were sorted into Slytherin and Gryffindor, and from that moment it seemed that fate was determined to divide us. We could neither of us hate the other, yet-" His voice trailed off into oblivion. When he spoke again, his words were clearer and more determined. "Would it be safe to say, Mr. Malfoy, that you feel something more for Miss Granger than friendship?"

Draco's skin prickled. "I-"

"Nevermind," Snape interrupted then, coming to sit back down with a flourish, "it is unimportant to our discussion. Did you or did you not make Miss Hermione Granger the gift of the necklace she was wearing tonight? One with a heart made of emeralds and rubies?"

Draco nodded. "I bought it for her as a Christmas present."

"How very touching," Snape droned, trying without success to hide his disdain. "A gift of love, given freely, to one who was once an enemy. Very touching indeed."

Draco seethed. He had not inherited Lucius's air of detached coldness, but the Malfoy pride was definitely there, and Snape had just offended it. "Look," Draco said boldly, "what business is it of yours who I choose to be friends with or give gifts to, or if I like Hermione as more than a friend?"

Snape stood and leaned dangerously over the desk. "Nothing good can come of a Slytherin loving a Gryffindor," he related acrimoniously, his hands gripping the corners of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white, "I can promise you that."

Understanding dawned on Draco at last. "It was your necklace, wasn't it?" Draco realized, grey eyes widening with shock. "That's what you were talking about before - your friend was a girl. You loved a Gryffindor too!"

Professor Snape released the desk and stood abruptly. "_That_," he bit off angrily, "was a long time ago. I was young and naïve. I glimpsed what I imagined to be kindness and understanding and foolishly allowed myself to believe in it, to _hope_." Giving a disgusted shake of his head, the professor began to restlessly pace again, arms folded protectively across his chest. "Gryffindors have the appearance of nobility but, in practice, few know the meaning of true loyalty or fairness. It is unwise to give them your implicit trust; for, in the end, they will _always _fail you." He glanced back at Draco with such directness that he could not escape the point. Draco could not know, however, that Snape had been let down grievously by more Gryffindors than one.

"Madam Elise told me about the necklace, but I had no idea it was yours," Draco ventured softly. "Who was she? The woman you had it made for."

"What difference does it make?" the other snapped. "Knowing Madam Elise's loose tongue, she's probably also told you that the woman in question is dead, and that is all you need know."

"The Dark Lord himself killed her," Draco remembered aloud, "that narrows it down considerably-"

"Haven't you heard enough?" Snape demanded. He grabbed Draco by the arms so hard it almost shook him, forcibly procuring his attention. "Must I watch the grisly scene unfold as history repeats itself? Learn from my mistakes, Draco! Don't be a fool and repeat them!"

A flicker of fear drew across Draco's pointed face. It had always seemed funny when Snape frightened everyone else, but being on the receiving end of the intimidation made him appreciate just how formidable the Potions Master could be. "Professor," he said very quietly, very carefully, "please, let me go."

Snape's eyes fluttered as he realized he had lost control. He instantly released Draco and stepped back in horror. "Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy. That will not happen again."

A pang of empathy that Draco might not have felt before his secret relationship with Hermione struck his heart, and he took a step towards Professor Snape. "What happened?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Is it not obvious?" the Potions Master sneered. "Say nothing of this to anyone, or I will make certain you live to regret it. Now, off to your dormitory. I will follow and make certain no dementors accost you." When Draco hesitated, Snape's eyes narrowed. "I said, _go_!"

ooo LL ooo

Hermione returned from another visit to Hagrid's, still shaken up by having run into Professor Snape the night before. She hadn't told the boys about her detention; she decided to use the Time Turner to her advantage so that they'd never have to know. Still, even if the boys didn't, Professor Snape did. She could see it in his eyes.

_Poor Hagrid's not doing well either_, she thought sadly. _I can't believe the Ministry wants to step in and kill Buckbeak... of course, I'm sure it's all about how much money changed hands from Lucius's bank account. Ugh! It's as though the truth doesn't even matter_! Her disgust for Draco's father seemed to grow in leaps and bounds. Hermione suddenly gave a tired sigh, realizing how little she had slept or eaten since the boys had decided not to speak to her over the Firebolt. It hadn't been so bad over the holidays, as she'd had plenty of time to lie down if she needed it. Now that classes had started back, though, she would really have to take care of herself. _I'm already stretched as it is, but I _will _help Hagrid in his case. It's the right thing to do - in his heart, I'm sure even Malfoy doesn't want Buckbeak to die because he wasn't listening to Hagrid when he should have been_.

Back at Gryffindor Tower, she went to her room and sat down with the special quill and ink she only used to write Draco, on the parchment she'd enchanted with a letterhead that read "Tea and Scones Society" in scripted letters. Feverishly, the following poured out from her quill:

_Dear Mr. Vice-President,_

_Last night I ran into Professor Snape as I was coming back to my room. He gave me detention, and made a point of asking me where I got my necklace. I lied to him and said it was from Mum and Dad, but I don't think he believed me. I wore it once before, to lunch on Christmas day, and he looked at me strangely then. I can't think why. I'm worried. I don't think Professor Snape means to hurt me, or us, but I just have this awful feeling. Write me soon._

_Worried,_

_Madam President_

ooo LL ooo

**A/N: Snape isn't being mean, just protective. He doesn't want to see Draco get hurt the way he did. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, especially the repeat reviewers, you guys rock my world!**


	15. Keeping Secrets

A week and a half into second term, Hermione had stopped worrying about whether the boys knew about her detention with Snape or the reason for it. Even if they did know, she reasoned, it would make no difference at this point. They were still so furious that they hadn't spoken to her in weeks, and if Harry didn't get the Firebolt back from McGonagall soon, it looked to be the end of their friendship. Hermione tried her best not to think about it. The fact that she had nearly double everyone else's class load was a mixed blessing; her schoolwork kept her so busy and exhausted that she had neither the time nor the energy to be overly heartbroken or indignant. She practically lived in the library, the case for Buckbeak her only reprieve from near-ceaseless study. Having finished her Potions essay to what she felt would be Professor Snape's satisfaction, which was difficult enough to do, she indulged in one last look over the trial notes she'd started preparing over the Christmas break.

_Hmm. This looks promising. _Glancing back and forth with her quill tickling her lips, Hermione copied the passage and made sure to note her reference. She had just found another precedent to support Buckbeak, this one from the late 1500's. A rather eccentric wizard named Rundquist had been keeping a griffin for a pet - one that kept eating all his neighbor's chickens. The Wizengamot had ruled in Rundquist's favor, as the neighbor, with full knowledge of the griffin on the adjoining property, had not bothered to coop his chickens or cast a charm on his fence to keep the beast out. _At least it shows that you should use common sense where magical creatures are concerned or the law may not be on your side_, Hermione reasoned, dotting her last 'i' with a flourish.

Hermione might have been miffed by the boys' recent behavior, but at least there was a silver lining to their senseless rejection - with them around, she wouldn't have gotten half so much done. She had spent nearly every minute after Christmas in the library researching, plotting a solid defense for Buckbeak. All she had to do now was wrap up her work. Really, they didn't _need _any more. She already had twelve full rolls of parchment documenting evidence and prior rulings to support Buckbeak's case, and she had gone over the main points repeatedly with Hagrid. She just had to trust that in the courtroom, Hagrid would remember all she had said and present it faithfully.

Stifling a yawn, she shook her head and closed her bookbag, then checked the time. _Half past six. I think that's enough for today. I'll get some dinner and then go on to bed. No one will miss me, anyway. _

It was a grim thought, but a true one. Even Ginny, who had once seemed such a loyal companion, had joined Harry and Ron in giving her the silent treatment. Hermione didn't know if it had been Ginny's choice to avoid her and support Harry, or if Ron had goaded her into it with "family loyalty." Either way, it was upsetting.

Her disdain for them all at the moment was quite deserved, but that didn't stop her from feeling lonely. The worst of it was that even Malfoy had made himself scarce. She only saw him in the hall between classes now. Constantly flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, Draco purposefully scowled and looked the other way when he saw her coming. Hermione understood the need for the pretense and gave him dirty looks as well, so no one else would get suspicious when she stared after him. But now, when she felt so miserable and alone, she needed him more than ever. Why didn't he at least _write_? He hadn't even answered her note about Snape's detention. At first she'd supposed that it must be Quidditch keeping him occupied, as their game against Ravenclaw was only a week after the start of term. But the game was over now; several days before, Slytherin had won, and no doubt that had given Draco at least a brief reprieve from Lucius's violent disapproval. So what could be keeping him from her now… unless he just didn't _want _to be near her? She brushed her fingers over the necklace, truly hoping that wasn't the case.

Trying to clear her head, she rose to return the book to its shelf in the back. "There, that's where it was." Hermione stood on tiptoe, unable to reach the high shelf. The stepladder she had used to get it down seemed to be gone. "Oh, where _is _that stupid ladder? I could have sworn I left it here."

"You mean this one?" As if by the long-awaited answer to a prayer, Malfoy poked his blond head around the corner, wheeling the stepladder round from the previous aisle. "Well, Granger, I'm disappointed. I would have thought Madam Pince's assistant knew her way around the library better than this."

"Malfoy," Hermione recognized softly, infinitely surprised to see him here. "Why aren't you in the Great Hall having dinner?"

"Why aren't you?" he countered.

Hermione's face fell, and instantly Draco understood. It hadn't escaped his notice that the Golden Trio seemed to have parted ways, at least for the time being, but he'd hoped for her sake that Potty and the Weasel would have come to their senses by now and made peace with her. Obviously, they hadn't. _And they call us Slytherins cold-hearted_, he thought wincingly. He glanced around cautiously; no one seemed to be within view. "Here. Let me hold that for you."

Hermione looked a little stunned by his chivalry. "All right. Thanks."

Draco held the ladder steady as she climbed up four steps, easily sliding the book back into the shelf. On the way back down, however, her foot slipped. Draco tried nobly to break her fall, but somehow the two of them wound up on the floor in an awkward heap. Lying at perpendicular angles with Malfoy, Hermione blushed, reminded of the moment they'd shared on the train at the beginning of the year. So much had happened since then, yet his closeness still made her feel awkward and giddy.

"Sorry about that," she said breathlessly, pushing herself up from the floor and offering him a hand. "I've just been so tired lately, I guess I wasn't watching what I was doing."

Draco took her hand and rose, flashing her a wink as he brushed off his trousers. "That's all right. You need to quit falling so much, though. I can't be there to catch you _all _the time, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hermione smirked, folding her arms with superiority. "But as I only seem to fall when you're around, maybe it's your fault."

"Yeah, you just can't help falling for me, can you, Granger?" Draco teased smugly.

Hermione shook her head wryly. "Draco, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he replied softly, his voice taking on that kinder tone that only she ever got to hear. "I read your note."

"I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong," Hermione said earnestly, revealing her concern. "Why didn't you answer it? I haven't heard from you in almost two weeks."

"I know. I'm sorry." Mirth fading, the Slytherin Seeker stared at his shoes almost guiltily. "Look, there's something I have to tell you, and I thought I better not chance writing it down. I meant to tell you in person. I just haven't had a chance until now."

Hermione saw no lie in his eyes, only remorse. She couldn't stay angry with him; at least he was _trying _to make up for his absence, which was more than she could say for certain other people. "All right, I believe you. Before you say anything, though… _Muffliato_. There. That should keep Madam Pince at her desk. She won't hear a word we say, nor will anyone else."

"Good thinking, Hermione," Malfoy praised, "as ever."

She smiled at the tribute and tucked an unruly curl behind her ear. "All right, now talk. What's going on?"

Even though the library was empty and no one near enough to eavesdrop could have heard thanks to Hermione's spell, Draco couldn't help glancing around just to be sure. "You weren't the only one Snape gave detention," he began in an undertone. "He caught me after you'd gone and dragged me down to the dungeons. Then he started asking me questions."

Hermione's face paled; her hands cupped her mouth in horror. "Draco, no. He… he _can't_…"

"He knows, all right," Draco affirmed grimly, "but that's not the worst of it."

"Not the worst?" The Gryffindor girl raised her eyebrows. Her heart was racing, and thudding so hard it could have bounced right out of her chest. "What could possibly be worse?"

"This." Draco reached forward and took the necklace he had gifted her with in his palm. "This is how Professor Snape knew about us, Hermione. He saw you wearing it that night." Leaning into her ear with the faintest of whispers, he divulged a brief version of what he had learned from Madam Elise, and recounted Snape's agonized confirmation that it was true.

Hermione's jaw dropped. Her brain was staggered, her heart wrenched with pity. She twisted the chain of the necklace in her hands until she found the charm, then stared at it with newfound amazement. "_Snape_, in love?" His story was like a wizards' version of _Romeo and Juliet, _a love of enemies that could only end in tragedy. At the edges of her thoughts, Hermione vaguely realized that his story was slowly intertwining with their own, but for the moment she pushed that realization aside. "This is unbelievable."

"Believe it," he groaned, "Snape almost lost control of himself just talking about it. I've never been afraid of a professor, Hermione, especially not him, but for a minute there…" Draco shuddered, his shoulders rattling as if from a blast of cold. "I'm just glad you weren't there to see it."

Hermione took his hand to steady him and won a grateful smile. Their hands lingered, missing each other's touch, and Draco boldly interlaced his fingers with hers, as though just daring someone to come by and see them.

"Poor Professor Snape," Hermione said at last. "The fighting between our two Houses must have driven them apart. Now I understand why he hates Gryffindor so much."

"And I always just thought it was because he hated Potter," Malfoy sneered, shaking his head.

"Wait a minute!" Hermione gasped, clutching his hand. "Repeat what you just said."

"What?" Draco wondered, seeing that she'd gone off on some mental tangent. "All I said was that Snape hates Potter. What's new about that?"

Hermione didn't respond. She moved her lips as though speaking, but really it was just a way to process her thoughts. Ron had made fun of her mercilessly for this foible. Draco, however, was smart enough to leave her be, and presently she spoke aloud and shared what she'd been thinking. "_Snape hates Potter_. It's been staring me in the face all this time! Honestly, how could I not have seen it before? Draco, you're a _genius_!"

The Malfoy heir rolled his grey eyes; if he didn't know her better, he'd have thought Hermione had lost her Gobstones. "We're _both_geniuses, Hermione, but what does that have to do with Professor Snape hating Potter? Everyone knows he can't stand the sight of him."

"Exactly! He can't stand the _sight _of him. Have you never wondered why?" When Draco's face remained blank, Hermione tutted under her breath. "Just now, when you said '_Snape hates Potter._'_You _meant Harry, but don't you see? Snape hated Harry from the moment he _saw _him at the start of first year. Harry didn't have time to _do _anything to make Snape hate him. He hated him just because of who he _was _- and who he _was _looked and acted just like his father. Oh, I must have been _blind _not to see it - it's the only explanation!"

Suddenly it dawned on Malfoy. "Are you going where I think you're going with this?"

Hermione's brown eyes glowed. "Harry's father, James, was a Gryffindor, and so was his _mother_, Lily. And you said the woman was killed by_Voldemort _-" she was undeterred by Draco's fearful reproof at her mentioning the name aloud - "and that's true of Harry's parents. His dad… and his _mum_."

Dumbfounded, Draco's jaw hung slack. "Hang on! Are you saying Professor Snape was in love with Potter's _mother_?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak and nearly lost her breath as Madam Pince's sharp voice screeched, "_Aha_! There you are! Thought you could hide, did you?"

She and Draco looked back and forth in alarm; Madam Pince's tall, hulking shadow darkened the bookcase in front of them; her narrowed eyes were visible on the other side of it, peering through the cracks. "_Hogwarts: A History_. Now, who put that away on the wrong shelf? _Tsk, tsk_." A dim light shone through the tomes as she pulled out a thick book from the shelf on the opposite side, and the two relaxed as they heard her heels clacking away towards the desk.

"That was a close one," Draco murmured.

"Too close," Hermione concurred. "We need to finish this, but not here. Can you meet me tonight at the usual place?"

Draco tilted his chin dubiously. "What about Snape?"

"We'll just have to chance it. Can you meet me there in an hour?"

Draco nodded. "I'll be there."

As the two went their separate ways, someone's head poked around the shelf behind them, wearing a determined frown.

It was Ginny Weasley.

ooo LL ooo

In the darkness of the old History of Magic room, Hermione met Draco once more. This time, he had good news.

"I passed Pansy Parkinson on the way up," Draco related as he locked the door, "she says Professor Snape is in his office grading essays. He won't be out for the rest of the night, I expect."

Hermione gave a stiff nod. She didn't like Pansy's constant attentions to Draco, but at least she was secure in the knowledge that he didn't return them. _As if anyone could fancy that thick-headed tree sloth_, Hermione thought acridly. "Well, that's one less thing to worry about."

"For now," Draco reminded her, pacing in front of the desk. "We can't keep watching out for Professor Snape. We'll have to find another place to meet."

"I know," Hermione affirmed softly, "I guess we'll just have to be on the lookout for somewhere safer, somewhere he's less likely to look. Now, where did we leave off?"

"You had a theory about Snape. That he loved Potter's mother." Draco bit his lip. "Hermione, are you certain about this?"

She nodded quickly. "Almost totally certain. It explains _everything_." Hermione pushed herself up onto the desk. "Lily Potter was a Gryffindor, and one of the few witches that You-Know-Who killed personally - not to mention, she's the _only _one I know of who fits the age and time frame. I would have to have more information to be 100 sure, but I feel fairly confident that I'm right about this."

Draco leaned back against the desk beside her, folding his arms across his narrow chest. "All right, Madam Detective, you've convinced me. But there's a more important question to be asked here. Do you think Snape was right?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"Do you think the past will repeat itself? That no matter what we do, no matter how close our friendship, we're destined to hate each other in the end?"

Hermione paused to reflect, twisting what had once been Snape's necklace in her hands and watching the little glimmers of light reflect on its jeweled surface. "I can't deny that our circumstances seem awfully similar to theirs."

"I know." Draco bit his lip and stared down at his feet. "That's why I've put off telling you 'til now. I was afraid you'd want to put an end to this, and I… I guess I just wasn't ready to give you up."

Hermione frowned. "Are you saying you are now?"

"No!" Draco cried. "Of course not. Why would you even think that?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, then put her face in her hands. "Sorry. It's just that you're the only one of my friends lately who_hasn't _given me up."

Draco grimaced. He knew perfectly well what she meant, but he would show his concern in words, so she would know he actually cared about more of her heart than just the part that was his. "Potty and the Weasel still on the outs with you, then?"

For once, she didn't correct his jibe. "Them and everyone else in Gryffindor."

_No wonder she's been looking so miserable the last few days_. He put a hand in her hair, massaging her neck to relax her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, and unbelievably, he meant it.

Hermione smiled over at him gratefully. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Draco leaned over and tentatively brushed his lips against hers; she gave no response, but didn't pull away. "So are we still all right, then?"

"We're all right," Hermione assured him quietly. "Although I do have one question. You've had more time to think about this than me. What are your thoughts?"

He was hesitant to reply. "I think we have an advantage over them," Draco said after a minute. "We've seen what became of them, and it wasn't pretty. They did what everyone else expected of them, but it didn't turn out right. So…maybe if we do the _opposite _of what everyone expects, it _will _work out for us. Does that make any sense?"

Hermione nodded. "Actually, it does. I think Lily thought she was doing the right thing. She chose someone else - a friend -" Draco bristled at this; it was unclear whether he was thinking of her being with either Harry or Ron - "instead of following her heart. She must have thought she was playing it safe, being with another Gryffindor instead of…"

"A Slytherin," Draco finished bleakly. "Like me."

"We're not them, Draco. Their past doesn't have to be our future." Hermione flashed him a heartening smile. "We'll _always _be friends. Won't we?"

Draco seemed relieved by her answer. "Of course we will. _Best _friends. And while I'm at it, I promise I'd never be so idiotic as to choose a Firebolt over you, either."

Hermione grinned; Malfoy loved Quidditch as much as Harry, so to hear him say that was music to her ears. "How about a rat?" she had to ask, thinking of Ron's slight.

"Most definitely not a rat," Draco agreed with a laugh. "What do you take me for, a _Weasley_?"

Hermione chuckled. "Never."

"Good," Draco replied, proving his appreciation with a kiss. "Now get going, just in case Professor Snape decides to take a break. I don't know about you, but I don't fancy another night in detention."

Hermione paused in the doorway and looked back uncertainly. "And will you write to me?"

Draco nodded firmly. "Every day. Now go."

ooo LL ooo

Hermione watched as the Fat Lady's portrait swung shut behind her. The Gryffindor common room appeared to be empty, its fire crackling away in the dark. She felt a pang of sadness strike her as she thought of how she'd sat in here nearly every night with Ron and Harry doing homework or laughing at Fred and George's latest antics. She was glad that they weren't there to see her so vulnerable.

Someone else, however, was. A voice spoke out from the chair facing away from the hidden door. "Well, look who's here. Malfoy's new best friend."

The bottom fell out of Hermione's stomach. Her insides lurched with the realization of who had spoken, and her fears were confirmed as Ginny swung around the edge of the seat and eyed her viciously. "Ginny. What do you want?"

"The same thing any other Gryffindor who saw what I saw would want to know: why you were holding hands with a _Slytherin_." Ginny folded her arms. "He's been the one this whole time, hasn't he? The one who was writing you letters. How _could _you, Hermione? Don't you have any loyalty to your friends, to your House?"

Hermione's face twisted with anger. Subconsciously, her hand moved to her chest, covering the necklace protectively. "Do you _really _want to ask me what I think about loyalty to friends just now?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "He's the reason you gave up on Ron."

Hermione scoffed. "Do you honestly think Ron cares how I feel? He certainly doesn't act like it. And what do _you _care who I fancy anyway, so long as it's not Harry?"

Ginny seethed. "Watch it."

"Why should I? You'll stop being _friends _with me? Oh, silly me, I forgot - you already _have_." Hermione gave her a spiteful sneer. "So much for Gryffindor loyalty. I may as well join Slytherin!"

"Maybe you should," Ginny maliciously alluded, "you're certainly acting like one. Tell me, what do Malfoy's friends think of his infatuation with a Muggle-born?" When Hermione didn't answer, Ginny scoffed. "They don't even know, do they?"

"Look, it's none of your business," Hermione snapped, "so why don't you drop it and go to bed?"

"Oh, I think it is my business," Ginny replied, "and I think Harry and Ron will want to know all about it, too."

Recognizing the threat, Hermione struggled to maintain her composure. "Ginny, listen to me. I told you once before that the person I fancied would be in danger if anyone found out about us. You know Draco's father; he'd kill us both if he knew."

Ginny took pause; it felt strange to hear Hermione call Malfoy by anything but his surname. She looked genuinely afraid, too, and with good reason. Ginny knew firsthand just how dangerous Lucius could be; the diary he'd slipped into her cauldron the previous year had nearly caused her death. The fact that Hermione knew the risk and still made this choice to be friends with Malfoy, if not something more, was nothing short of astounding. Could she really like Draco that much? Hadn't she always hated him? "Don't you think Harry and Ron have the right to know?"

"If they were still claiming me as a friend, you might be right, but they're not. I hate that it's come to this, but if I have to use blackmail, I will." Hermione folded her arms decisively. "Breathe one word of this to anyone, and I'll tell Harry everything. The stalking, the diary, that Witch Weddings magazine you charmed with both your faces on it - _everything_."

"You wouldn't." Ginny hesitated. She saw that Hermione was dead serious.

"I'll do what I have to do. Don't test me, Ginny." She started to walk away, but Ginny caught her arm.

"Hermione, listen. You're right about one thing: I haven't been the best friend to you lately. But friends or not, I think I ought to warn you. I don't think you've thought this through."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've seen you up late at night, getting a defense ready for Buckbeak. Have you forgotten that Malfoy's the one who provoked Buckbeak into attacking him? And that Malfoy wants Buckbeak put down?"

"I haven't forgotten, Ginny. But Hagrid is my friend, and Harry and Ron certainly aren't doing anything to help him right now."

"That's what I'm talking about," Ginny sighed, exasperated. "You may not want to hear this, Hermione, but you need to think. Doesn't it seem odd to you that you're going to all this trouble to protect an innocent animal - from your boyfriend?"

"It's not like that, Ginny. Draco's father is the one pushing for Buckbeak to be executed, not Draco himself."

"But he still hates Hagrid and wants him fired, doesn't he? And no matter how you feel about Harry or Ron just now, Hagrid _is _your friend." When Hermione didn't answer, Ginny went on. "Look, I don't know why Malfoy is being so nice to you - maybe he really does like you, I'm not saying it's impossible - but it can't last, and not just because of his father. He's a Slytherin, Hermione, and that means you can't trust him. Sooner or later, he's going to disappoint you and you're going to get hurt."

Hermione shook her head. "You're wrong."

"Maybe. I guess we'll have to wait and see." Ginny started to turn and go to bed, but paused and looked back at Hermione. "You really like him, don't you?"

Surprised at the question, Hermione nodded. "Yes. I really do. I know it seems strange - well, more than strange, unbelievable really - but it's true. We've been friends since the end of last year. I know you can't understand right now, and I'm not asking you to. But please, at least try to understand why it has to be a secret."

Ginny bit her lip. "Look, I won't say anything to Harry and Ron, or anyone else, if you'll just promise to think about what I said."

"Fair enough." Hermione paused, then added, "He's not as bad as you think he is, Gin."

"I hope not, for your sake. 'Night."

"'Night." Hermione watched her leave, then went to sit by the hearth and stare into the fire, and think.

ooo LL ooo

_We'll always be friends, won't we, Sev?_

_Of course we will! I'll never stop being your friend, Lily. Not ever._

_Leave him alone! You're nothing but an arrogant toerag!_

_Stay out of this, you filthy little Mudblood!_

_You've chosen your path and I've chosen mine. I don't ever want to see you again._

_Ah, I see. You want the woman for yourself. Very well. Let it be a reward for my most faithful follower. It is, after all, the child I want, not the mother. But if she stands in my way…_

_Please, take me instead… NOOOOO!!!_

"Lily, no!" Severus Snape woke with a start, gasping for breath. A cold sweat beaded his brow as he came back to his senses and recognized the familiar surroundings of his room. His throat felt scratchy and parched. Snape reached for the glass of water at his bedside, gulped it down and covered his face with his hands. The dark dreams of his past came with less frequency now, though the passing of many years had not diminished their potency. Snape progressively relaxed the muscles of his shoulders, his hands, his neck. It was an old trick he'd learned, using the mind to force the body to calm itself. This time, however, it wasn't working as quickly or as well. He opened his dark eyes, letting out a deep breath.

And then, quite unintentionally, relaxation found another way. In the sanctuary of his mind, Hestia Jones suddenly appeared beside him; her fleshy form, curved in all the right places, was sidled against him and almost felt real. Between waves of dark hair, her guileless face stared up at him with infinite compassion and love. Her imaginary hand rested comfortingly in his, her smile sweet and consoling. She would know just the words to steady him. She would reassure him he need not suffer alone, that he had a friend who would not walk away as everyone else had. And this time, this one time, he would believe it. Before the thought could completely calm him, though, the vision abruptly faded as the knock repeated at his door.

Snape gave a loud _humph_. Only one person dared visit his quarters, let alone wake him from slumber and come unannounced. _Dumbledore_. Cursing under his breath, he reached for the wand lying on the nightstand and pointed at the door to unlock it. "Enter."

Dumbledore swept into the room, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry to disturb your sleep, Severus, but there is something I must ask you about. May I? I won't keep you long."

_As if saying no were really an option_, Severus mused bitterly, not really caring at the moment if the headmaster were privy to his thoughts or not. Heatedly, he threw the covers back. "Certainly. Just give me a moment." Snape had no desire to go back to sleep anyway. He turned away and reached into his wardrobe for a clean white tunic, slipping it over his head.

Waiting patiently as Snape dressed, Dumbledore paced around the front of the bedchamber. Snape's taste was sparse and utilitarian, yet oddly artistic; there were no paintings or portraits, no framed pictures of loved ones smiling upwards, no keepsakes or baubles, only the black ebony of his furniture. But the furniture he had chosen was intricately carved with winding, twisting patterns that resembled vines, and the fabric of his drapes and comforter were black, but their edges were richly detailed with a gold and silver lining. It was a forlorn, dreary sort of room, but not without its own hintings of beauty.

Walking past the curtained window, the headmaster paused in midstep, his interest suddenly piqued by the sight of something peculiarly unlike Severus. Beside the impeccably neat stack of student essays on the Potions Master's rolltop desk, the topmost of which was marked D for Dreadful, sat a very messy and haphazard pile. On the uppermost piece of parchment, many lines had been hastily written and scratched out, as though it were a practice sheet. Dumbledore squinted and adjusted his spectacles. A good deal of the words were illegible, but as his vision blurred into focus he could just make out a few phrases here and there.

_I wish I could put it into words … only just met but my heart tells me… being foolish but … never known such kindness … think I could love … if only you would say something, anything... I've not heard from you...  
_

Dumbledore was fully intrigued now. He drew in his beard with one hand and peered closer, hoping to find a name, but on hearing Snape's sharp intake of breath he realized he was on dangerous ground. Smiling, he looked up at into his colleague's questioning eyebrows as though he'd seen nothing out of the ordinary. _No guilt shown is no guilt admitted_, Dumbledore thought cleverly. "Ah, there you are. I see you've been hard at work grading essays."

Equal to the task of pretending, Snape gave a blasé nod. "A dismal task; scarcely two worth reading in the lot. But I feel certain you haven't come to discuss the thoughts of first-years on brewing Amicabilium."

The headmaster smiled softly. "Indeed not, so I'll come straight to the point. I understand that you recently gave both Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy detentions."

Instantly, Snape's tenseness returned. "I have. What of it?"

"May I inquire as to why? They are normally model students." Dumbledore lowered his chin and peered over his spectacles at the Potions Master, his knowing blue eyes easily betraying his suspicions.

"They were outside of their dormitories after curfew," Snape replied gravelly, "the rules on that subject are quite clear."

"So they are." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Curious situation, don't you agree? A Gryffindor girl and a Slytherin boy, enemies by day and friends by night. Not something one sees every day, but… it has happened before, hasn't it?"

Snape's jaw dropped. "You _know_?"

"Oh, I've known for quite some time," Dumbledore replied easily, conjuring himself a plush armchair in which he sat and stared shrewdly at the Potions Master. "I have endeavored to keep their secret, but when you saw Miss Granger's necklace, I knew you would not be content until you uncovered the truth. Is your curiosity satisfied now?"

"_Satisfied_?!" Snape exploded. "You knew of this and said nothing to me?"

Dumbledore looked down at his lap, where his long hands were folded. "I did what I thought best, for them and for you."

"What you thought _best_?" Severus shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. "It cannot be allowed to continue. You know this can only lead to disaster. For pity's sake, Albus, put a stop to it; now, before it's too late."

"History need not repeat itself, Severus," Dumbledore carefully began. "I will eternally regret what is lost, but -"

"_Spare me your sympathy_!" came Snape's interrupting rejoinder. He turned away towards the only window, peering through the blinds for a morning light that was not there. "You speak easily of what is lost, but it's not been _your _loss to live with, has it? _She_ is dead, and _I _have endured thirteen years of torment! And now you would risk letting these innocent children suffer what I, what _she_…" Snape's voice broke as he spoke of Lily; he hated Albus in that moment for driving that old wound to the surface. "But I know you. There's some method behind this, something you hope to gain, and not necessarily at once. It's strategy that drives you now, not some benign belief that love conquers all. For all your fine platitudes, you know nothing of love. You never have, and you never will."

The headmaster responded with an awkward silence, obviously wounded by the remark. When he spoke again, his voice was scarcely audible. "So even now, you do not trust me."

"I trust you to help me gain my revenge against the Dark Lord," Snape said frostily over his shoulder, "but where hearts are concerned, you have proven yourself unworthy of trust. How many lives have you gambled like pawns in wizards' chess? How many more would you sacrifice for your _noble _purposes?"

"I would sacrifice my own," the older wizard sighed then, "if it could bring them back. Alas, I have not that power." When Snape fell quiet, no doubt inwardly grieving as he had so many times before, Dumbledore went on. "As to Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy…What would you have me do, Severus? Destroy all their hopes, when they may yet have a chance? They _need _each other. Surely you, of all people, can see that."

Snape exhaled roughly. "You have forgotten one very important element of this equation: _Lucius_. If he were to learn of this, the children's lives would be forfeit, and possibly the lives of Miss Granger's Muggle family as well. Do you want that on your conscience? Is it worth the risk?"

Dumbledore wavered, then replied at last, "I hope so. I truly hope so." He stood and with a swipe of his wand the armchair disappeared. "I do not ask you to trust me, Severus. I see nothing can redeem me in your eyes for my failure long ago. However, I do hope that, someday, you can learn to trust in love again, as you once did."

Snape raised an eyebrow and glanced in horror at where he had attempted rather miserably to pen a letter the night before. _Merlin, tell me he didn't see…_ But if he expected to find an answer in Dumbledore's expression, he would not receive it, because with that cryptic remark the headmaster had gone, leaving the door wide open behind him.

ooo LL ooo

** A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter posted. I'll try to have the next up soon. Thanks for reading! **


	16. Grey Morning

Severus flattened his back against the door he'd just slammed and exhaled roughly. He glanced over at his desk. The letter he'd attempted to write lay in plain view, which meant the headmaster would have been blind not to see it. Snape winced. He would never have shown it to his face, but Dumbledore's gently prodding remark about trusting in love had affected him far more deeply than he had intended. His normally cool demeanor was shot all to hell.

"_Damn_!" he cursed, wand clattering to the floor as he turned and slammed his fists into the door. For a moment he stood there, hands splayed out as though he'd been clawing at the wood. His head defeatedly drooped between his elbows, curtains of dark hair hiding his face, stirred only by his erratic breath.

_Get a hold of yourself, you fool, before you fall apart, _his intellect warned. _What can this inane behavior possibly accomplish? Do you think she sees you now? Do you think she cares? Why should she, when Lily never did?_

"That's not true," Severus argued with himself in a whisper, "Lily _did_ care for me!"

_She_ cared _for James Potter. She _pitied _you. Potter's ring was on her finger when she died, while your necklace was up on a shelf collecting dust. Now stop acting like a ninny and pull yourself together. Sniveling over the past won't change it. You've had years' worth of evidence on that score. You did what you had to do, and it's done. Now, be a man and get up. Dammit, get_ up!

After a minute it worked; his intransigence snapped him back to reality. Snape reached for his wand, pocketing it before he could do any serious damage. He paced to and fro with his face in his hands, focusing just on breathing in and out. Gradually his anger diminished, faded into the safer dullness of dejection. His emotions cooled somewhat, he halted his pacing beside the desk to glance down at his drafted letter to Hestia Jones.

Snape closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the quillmarked parchment. He had nearly fooled himself into believing he had the will to send it. A flurry of what-ifs and regrets danced like little gremlins in his mind, threatening to make him change his mind. But he dared not question his decision to push the girl away. As much as it grieved him now, his refusal might one day save her life.

The bitter truth was that Harry Potter had not, as most wizards blindly believed when they lay snug in their beds at night, finished the Dark Lord utterly. Lord Voldemort would find a way to return to power. He had already tried twice and nearly succeeded; once with the Sorceror's Stone, the second time resurrecting a piece of his broken soul from his diary. Snape knew, as Dumbledore did, that it was only a matter of time - and that when the time came, he would have to return to him, and live the lie of being his faithful servant. This business of searching for Sirius Black, his one-time tormentor, was child's play compared to what he would face when that dreadful day arrived. Even _he _shivered at the mere thought of returning to the Dark Lord's side, and Severus Snape was a man who feared nothing…

_And Hestia is like a child, innocent, harmless. I cannot expose her to the danger that surely awaits me, no matter how much I.._._Anyway, it doesn't matter. Clearly, the damage is done;__nearly a month, and still no answer from the note I sent. So there can be no need for this. Can there? _He hesitated a moment with the letter lingering in his grasp, then decided. Squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his emotions back into confinement, he crumpled the parchment in one trembling hand and threw it into the far corner, then swept out of the room before he could look at it again and change his mind.

ooo LL ooo

The sky-charmed ceiling of the Great Hall was a murky grey, the clouds too copious for the morning light to shine through. Dumbledore found that oddly ironic. Ever since he'd departed Severus's room, his mind had been similarly muddled.

_To think! Who would have guessed that Severus could close his mind to me so fully as to keep such a secret? Of course, to be fair, he _has _evaded Voldemort's Legilimency all these years, which is scarcely less probing than my own. And I have been distracted worrying over Harry, so it is entirely possible that I failed to pay attention… hmm. Perhaps Minerva was right when she implied that I am stretched too thin. I should enlist her aid; her sharp eyes might see something mine have missed_._ Meanwhile, I should dearly like to know who has inspired this change in our brooding Potions Master_. The old wizard stroked his lengthy beard unconsciously.

He felt satisfied that he had a nice set of clues to begin with. For starters, the letter had implied she was a stranger, someone Severus had just met. This not only ruled out the idea that she could be a fellow Death Eater or one of their minions, but also indicated that she may not be a British witch at all. Had she been, she would have attended Hogwarts and passed through Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley on a fairly regular basis; there was little chance that he would not have met or at least seen her before this. There was always the possibility that it might be a Muggle, but Albus seriously doubted it. Snape's unhappy childhood had not exactly endeared him to life in the Muggle world, nor would his indoctrination as a Death Eater have made interacting with Muggles more palatable. He would not leave the comfortable confines of the wizarding world without a vital reason, and Dumbledore could think of none. _That does narrow the field considerably. A foreign witch, perhaps? A Squib? Or, possibly, the Muggle relative of a witch or wizard accompanying them to Diagon Alley_? Those seemed to be the only plausible options.

The depth of feeling contained in those few lines suddenly impressed Dumbledore as being relevant. He traced over the last fragments again in his mind:_ Never known such kindness. Think I could love …_

_Such a tender turn of phrase. Most uncharacteristic of Severus. And stranger still, he says he never knew such kindness, yet Lily Evans had the reputation of being uncommonly kind. This woman, whoever she is, must be nearly angelic to have warranted such praise from him. _

It was a comfort to know that this mysterious lady was certainly no dark witch, and that she had no intentions of luring the Potions Master back into a life of evil. Unfortunately, the idea of her being truly kind and good presented a conundrum all its own. _A woman who truly loved him would never allow Severus to risk his life with so dangerous a mission as the one I have set him, even though there is no other who could do it. And wrapped in the comforting warmth of amour, Severus might suddenly find life too precious to take that chance… oh, dear. This does present a problem. _Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh. Regrettably, he had to admit that the introduction of a new love to Severus's heart might lessen his loyalty to the old one. That could throw a serious kink into his plans for the protection of Harry Potter and, ultimately, the defeat of Tom Riddle._ And I must ensure the greater good, at whatever cost. Which means, unfortunately for poor Severus, that I shall have to monitor this situation very, very carefully_…

"All right," McGonagall clucked, disrupting his reflection, "what's going on?"

Dumbledore glanced over at the head of Gryffindor House, feigning innocence. "Whatever do you mean, Minerva?"

"I'm not _stupid_, Albus. You've been over there sighing and hem-hawing for fully ten minutes, and you haven't touched your breakfast." She indicated his full plate with a jab of her fork.

"Ah, yes. I was just thinking that perhaps these sausages are a bit heavier than what I had in mind." He snapped his fingers, and a bowl of creamed wheat appeared in their place. "Much better."

"Oh, no you don't. You're not getting around me _that _easily." The old witch narrowed her eyes with asperity. "Really, are you going to tell me what's troubling you so, or do I need Professor Snape to fetch the Veritaserum to pry your lips apart?"

Dumbledore knew she was teasing, but he also needed to tell her before the majority of students and staff arrived. Glancing around and seeing only Professor Vector at the far end of the table, and Professor Sprout nearly as far away, he decided it was safe enough. In a whisper, he revealed, "It's Professor Snape that concerns me."

She arched her eyebrows, instantly sobering. "Oh? Is it something serious?"

"Possibly. I would need to know more to be certain, but Severus guards his privacy like a dragon guards her eggs." The old wizard drummed his fingertips together for a moment. "Minerva, do you think it would be terribly improper of us to -"

"Spy on him and find out what's going on?" McGonagall lifted her chin briskly. "I most certainly do."

"Yes. I thought you would." Dumbledore gave a resigned nod.

"That is why _we _won't be doing anything. _I_ will."

"Oh?" His blue eyes twinkled as he lowered his chin and peered over his spectacles at her.

McGonagall let out a sharp scoff. "For heaven's sake, don't argue the point. You've got enough on your shoulders as it is - more than enough, I should think. Besides, Severus knows he's here because_you _trust him. It wouldn't do for you to be involved. If he found out, he'd think you suspected him of going back to his old ways. He walks a fine enough line to keep from it without that kind of a push in the wrong direction. No, I think it best if I handle this personally. Unless you have a better idea?"

Dumbledore shrugged and reached for his goblet, taking a swig of pumpkin juice to hide the self-satisfied smile that crossed his lips. "I leave it to your discretion then, Professor McGonagall. If you think it best, that's good enough for me."

ooo LL ooo

Ginny arrived at breakfast and took a seat beside Ron, who was already tucking in a plateful of sausage and eggs, and was adding on three slices of toast and marmalade. "Morning, Ron."

"_Hurro_," he mumbled without looking up. After a moment passed in silence, Ron stopped chewing and glanced meaningfully at his sister, whose plate had appeared before her and was yet untouched. "Oi! What's the matter with you, then?"

Ginny bit her lip, twisting her fork in her fingers but not using it. "Is Harry around?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Starting a little early this morning, aren't you, Gin?"

"That's not what I meant!" she said angrily. "Look, I just wanted to ask if either of you has seen Hermione lately."

"No," Ron replied a little loudly, "and we don't want to, either. Bloody menace! She's ruined any chance Gryffindor had of winning the House Cup. Might as well let her do the honors and hand the cup to Snape and Malfoy herself when the time comes, 'cause you know they'll get it if we don't."

"I'm not happy about the fact that Harry may not have a proper broom in time for the match, either. But it doesn't change the fact that you two should _talk _to her. Really. You have no idea what you might have _missed_." She said the last bit with particular emphasis, hoping he'd catch on.

Of course, being Ron, he didn't.

"Blimey, Ginny, whose side are you on?" he asked, his face turning red. "Turning on your own flesh and blood, and Harry too?"

"_I'm not_!" she hissed. "And what about you, then? I thought you fancied Hermione. You sure did shove off in a hurry if that was the case."

"Keep your voice down!" Ron shushed, glancing nervously left to right. "No one's got to _know _that, do they? Besides, I was getting tired of her anyway - Little Miss High and Mighty, always thinking she knows better than us - and she never will keep that bloody cat of hers away from Scabbers."

Ginny sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Hermione. The bushy-haired girl had slumped down at the very end of the Gryffindor table and was eating alone, a notebook pulled from her overstuffed satchel in which she wrote furiously between bites. She didn't know why, but the sight almost made her feel guilty. "Ron, listen. I think if you and Harry don't make peace with Hermione now, you may lose her for good."

"No worries. It won't be much of a loss, will it?" Ron inferred, his voice dripping with disgust. "She's such a -"

But he never had a chance to finish what he was saying. A slender male figure shoved past him and knocked his face down into his plate, covering one whole cheek with sausage grease. "Such a what?" came Malfoy's sharp voice as the hulkish forms of Crabbe and Goyle shook with laughter behind him. "A dirty Mudblood? Still better than a greasy Weasley like you."

"Greasy Weasley," chuckled Crabbe as they sauntered on toward the Slytherin table, "good one, Malfoy!"

Ron started to get up and draw his wand, but Ginny yanked him back down. "Don't. It's what he wants."

But she stared after Malfoy for a moment, eyebrows raised. Sure enough, once the blond Slytherin had joined his classmates at their table, he snuck a brief glance at Hermione. For just an instant, when he was looking at the girl he'd held hands with in the library, Malfoy's face lost its arrogant sneer, taking on some other look entirely - and then it was gone, and he was elbowing Blaise Zabini and pointing over at Ron, laughing snidely once more. Ginny's lips parted in disbelief.

Harry joined them then, sitting across from Ron. "Morning, Ron. Ginny." As his plate magically appeared, he squinted his eyes behind his glasses. "Ron, what happened to your face?"

"Malfoy, that's what," Ron informed him dully, wiping hard with a napkin, "stupid git."

"Apparently Malfoy's changed targets," Ginny hinted, "now Ron's at the top of his hit list instead of Hermione."

"And here I thought _I _was number one on Malfoy's hit list," Harry joked, missing Ginny's subtlety as easily as Ron had. "Can you pass the eggs, then?"

The red-haired girl shook her head and gave up trying. Clearly, the last thing the boys wanted to talk about was Hermione Granger. There was nothing more she could do short of telling them, and she had promised Hermione faithfully that she wouldn't.

_And with good reason. I didn't want to believe it, but I can't deny what I saw - Draco really _has_ got a soft spot for her. Still, what is she thinking? If Lucius Malfoy ever found out, Hermione would be as good as dead! That man is dangerous. That damned book of his would have killed me last year if it hadn't been for Harry. And if he goes after Hermione next - who'll be there to save _her?

"Ginny, help me get this grease off," Ron whined then, derailing her train of thought, "or I'm going to look like Eloise Midgen!"

Ginny scowled. "Can't you do anything yourself?" She pointed her wand at Ron's soiled cheek. "_Tergeo_." Instantly, the grease evaporated. "Honestly, Ron, didn't you ever listen to any of Mum's spells when she was cleaning house?"

"No," Ron scoffed, as though insulted by her suggestion that he know anything about housework. "I'm a boy. Why should I?"

_Some prize _he's _shaping into_, Ginny thought caustically._ I'm starting to understand why Hermione gave up on him. He's my own brother, and _I'm_ tempted to sometimes_. She cast a troubled glance back down at the end of the table, but she needn't have looked. Hermione was already gone.

ooo LL ooo

Snape stormed down the passageway that led to the Great Hall. Fuming at his own foolish weakness, he rounded the corner sharply, black robes snapping in his wake. He was so overwrought that he didn't see the body he smashed into until it was too late, and both of them nearly toppled to the floor.

"Professor Snape." It was Remus Lupin. The tousled hair and scratched face of his fellow professor looked at him apologetically as he caught his balance. "Sorry about that, I didn't see you coming round the corner. Are you all right?"

_No, you bloody werewolf, do I look as though I'm all right_? he wanted to scream as he straightened his robes. Inwardly, Snape recoiled with disgust, but outwardly he collected himself with every ounce of restraint he could muster. "Well enough, Lupin. And you? How's that little nighttime problem of yours?"

To anyone passing by, it may have sounded as though he were suggesting that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wet the bed or had taken up sleepwalking, but Lupin knew exactly what he meant. "Far better, thanks to your potions. You may not know it, Severus, but I am truly grateful for your help."

"Think nothing of it," Snape replied silkily as the two resumed their walk to breakfast.

Lupin saw that Snape's answer was double-edged, and he sighed. "I know that any kind of apology from our Hogwarts days comes far too late, and would mean very little coming from me, so I won't attempt it. But Severus, hasn't enough time gone by that we can put the past behind us?"

"Surely you're not suggesting time erases a wrong and makes it right?" Snape asked, his deep voice thick with resentment.

Lupin shook his head meekly. "No, I'd be a fool indeed if I thought that. I just meant that, for my part, I regret what James and Sirius did to you. It was wrong, and I should have done something to stop it, but I was too afraid of losing my friends. Of course, in the end, I lost them anyway. Three to death, and one to madness." He gave a hollow little laugh, almost a scoff. "It never stops hurting, does it? The loss of someone you care about."

Snape's dark eyes flashed menacingly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" Lupin gave him a searching look. "No, perhaps not. If that be the case, then consider yourself lucky. Professor Snape." He excused himself, hands humbly tucked in his pockets as he walked inside.

Snape lingered a moment. He still distrusted Lupin, however sad and contrite he appeared to be; however, the man's words had struck a nerve deep inside. His emotions had run the gamut this morning until he was weary enough to crawl right back into bed and sleep for a week. Still, he managed to don an expression of insouciance and dutifully file behind Lupin into the Great Hall. He made his way towards his seat at the staff table, where he sat in sullen silence.

Snape shifted pieces of sausage and egg around on his plate as he pretended to eat, and tried rather unsuccessfully to hide his hurt as he glared up at the owls swooping in with the morning mail. He wasn't sure how long his attention was fixed on the arrival of Owl Post before McGonagall leaned over and murmured, "You're going to stare a hole through the ceiling, Severus. What _are _you looking for that's so important?"

"Nothing," Snape lied, forcing himself to take a bite of something, anything. He stared down at his plate to get her discerning old eyes off of him. It didn't work. Forced to say something, he gave her a sidelong look. "If you have no objections, I volunteer to monitor the halls tonight."

"_Again_?" McGonagall couldn't help asking. "You've taken the watch of the corridors for three nights running. You really should let someone else take a turn, and catch up on your rest. Minding the halls is tiresome enough, but with those dreadful dementors wandering about -"

"Thank you, but I am quite up the task, Minerva," Snape said a little sharply. "I insist. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lesson to prepare." He sat back with a scrape of his chair and stepped speedily away from the staff table.

Professor McGonagall called out his name; no doubt, wanting to contradict him about monitoring the halls again. He had no desire to explain to the head of Gryffindor House that he hadn't been sleeping well anyway, and that having a purpose at night kept him from climbing the walls in despondency. Snape walked on, pretending not to hear.

"Professor Snape!" the elderly Gryffindor witch repeated insistently. "There's an owl for you."

"_What_?!" He spun on his heel, disbelieving, but a medium-sized owl with oddly bright, silvery eyes had just landed before his empty chair. It looked up at him and hooted softly.

"A personal owl. And a pretty one, too," Professor McGonagall noted, stroking its beautiful blue-grey feathers. "Aren't you? Yes, you are." The owl nudged its head against her fingers and cooed happily, loving the show of affection.

Severus felt his breath catch in his throat. He stared at the bird in dark puzzlement, and at the envelope clutched tightly in its beak.

"Well?" McGonagall pressed. "Aren't you going to get your letter?"

Snape outstretched his hand. The owl delivered the envelope into his palm, but instead of flying off, it swooped to his shoulder like a dutiful pet. Slightly discomfited, he tried to shoo the owl away, but it only situated its talons in his robes even tighter and gave a confused hoot, not understanding why he didn't want it to stay. He was most uncomfortably aware that both the headmaster and deputy headmistress were watching with interest, but for a moment it was all he could do to breathe.

"Excuse me," he mumbled anxiously, racing towards the back door. The blue-grey owl released his robes, just long enough to spread its wings and sail after him.

Dumbledore and McGonagall glanced at each other. "_Very _serious," they agreed in unison.

ooo LL ooo

"… and don't forget that the practical uses of the Ogham will be on the next exam," the Ancient Runes professor informed the class. "Today we're going to continue with some of the more practical uses of the Norse runic alphabet. Now, can anyone tell me the name of the most widely-used rune in the early Viking conquests of Europe?"

Predictably, Hermione's hand raised in the air, though it took a few seconds longer than usual. "Is it tiwaz, sir?"

"Correct, as ever. Five points to Gryffindor."

Hermione gave a faint smile. This class was _much _better than Divination - definitely worth rewinding time for.

In the back of the classroom, Draco bit his lip and forced his head down. _Quit staring at her_, he mentally ordered himself, _do you _want _everyone to see_? But he couldn't seem to peel his eyes off Granger, no matter how hard he tried.

Being unable to meet with her in the abandoned classroom made things difficult, and even though they wrote each other notes, it just wasn't the same. He couldn't hold her hand or touch her hair. They couldn't even exchange a smile. Since the night he'd found out his prize student was following in his footsteps in matters of the heart as well as in the classroom, Professor Snape had watched Draco like a hawk. Meanwhile, his mother had sent him two more letters, both of which he'd ignored, urging him to put an end to it before his father found out. _We've been pushed far enough apart as it is, _he thought miserably_. I never get to see her. I never get to talk to her. Can't she be satisfied with that?_

Even worse, Pansy seemed to have noticed how upset he was and saw it as an opportunity to wriggle her way into his heart. The dark-haired, pug-faced Slytherin girl had started stalking him again, showing up in odd places and giggling whenever she heard his name. She showed up to all his Quidditch practices, laughing and blushing with Millicent Bulstrode in the stands as they pointed at him, and she always tried to sit next to him now when he was in the common room. Only the constant presence of Crabbe and Goyle seemed to keep her from manhandling him, or slipping him a love spell. _Sharp-clawed little vulture, trying to get me while I'm down. Why can't she just leave me alone? Why can't they _all _just leave us alone?_

Putting his quill to the parchment so forcefully it nearly poked a hole through it, Draco determined that he would pay attention. He directed his gaze past Hermione at the front of the Ancient Runes chamber. It was perhaps more scholarly in appearance than some of the other classrooms, decorated with maps of the ancient world and letter-charts instead of crystal balls or magical creatures in cages.

"Tiwaz," the professor intoned then, drawing a golden-glowing shape in the air with his wand to illustrate the symbol, "is a Norse rune whose name comes from Tiw, the god of battles, justice, and the law, who protected warriors and seafarers. Viking wizards found it useful to imbue a talisman bearing this symbol with a Strengthening Charm, giving the wearer ten times the strength of an ordinary berserker…"

Draco jotted down the note, then snuck one more glance at the chair two rows ahead of him, where Hermione's bushy hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head, and the gold chain of her necklace was just visible at the nape of her neck. Her chin seemed to droop every few minutes, then jerk upwards, as though she was trying to keep from falling asleep. Her shoulders were slumped, her quill movements sporadic.

_She's exhausted_, Draco thought, _and I don't think it's just because she's got a heavier class schedule than anyone in our year. _

He'd passed by her on the way to breakfast. She hadn't seen him, but he'd seen her, secreted away in a corner with her broken-down bookbag sitting on the floor. There were dark circles underneath her eyes; she'd been trying not to cry. It had broken his heart to have to look away, to leave her like that, before one of his fellow Slytherins could see her and make her _really _miserable.

And then he'd overheard that idiot Weasley complaining about Hermione to his sister, saying it wouldn't be a loss to be rid of her. Malfoy had nearly lost his grip. Shoving that red-haired arse face-first into his plate had assuaged his anger somewhat, but he'd been tempted to do far worse. Seeing Hermione sitting tired, alone and unhappy at the end of the Gryffindor table had been almost more than he could bear.

_Filthy Potty and that Greasy Weasley! How dare they push her away like she's nothing. It's not fair. She should have been in Slytherin, where I could protect her from witless dolts like that; or in Ravenclaw, where she'd have friends smart enough to appreciate her. I don't care what anyone says, I think the Sorting Hat made a mistake not putting her with intelligent people, where she belongs._

And then he glanced around at his Slytherin friends, taking a good, long look. These were the faces who laughed with him in the common room, the willing followers and admirers who lived for a moment's notice from the Malfoy heir. _But it's not because I'm me, _he thought. _It's because I'm my father's son. They play their parts well - nearly as well as I do mine. But none of it's real. _As he realized how isolated he was, despite all appearances, a sobering thought struck him. _What if the Hat didn't put me where _I_ belong, either?_

When he wrote his next note to Hermione, he asked her that very question.

ooo LL ooo

Severus knew he wouldn't have enough time or privacy to read Hestia's reply until the break after his first two classes. As he lectured his first period class on proper brewing procedures for a multi-purpose healing elixir, the letter was practically burning a hole in the breast pocket of his robes. His second class was even more excruciating, for his students as well as himself; in less than an hour he had given two detentions, taken thirty points from Hufflepuff, and assigned the lot an essay three parchment rolls long.

At long last, the grumbling students shuffled out of the dungeon classroom, and Snape had the chance to be alone. He performed a locking charm on the door of his office, where the blue-grey owl awaited him eagerly, fluttering its wings on the treelike perch he'd conjured for it. "Don't get too excited," he warned, only half-teasing, "even if I take half as long to write a reply as your mistress does, you may be with me for some time."

The owl hooted with enthusiasm, as though that would be just fine. Snape arched a sinister eyebrow. "Good grief, you _are _hers, aren't you? Any other owl would be clawing at the window to get away from me, and wisely so."

As if in reply, the blue-grey bird flew to his shoulder, rubbing its head dotingly against the oily black folds of his hair. "All right, enough! Go wait over there. I won't be able to read with you watching over my shoulder. Nonsensical bird."

Obediently, the owl resumed its position on the perch without another peep, and Snape shook his head. The display of affection from Hestia's owl had been nearly as unexpected as her own, but it made sense - pets_ did _tend to absorb their owners' personalities, and Hestia was definitely the sort to give love simply and freely.

He ripped open the envelope with _Professor Severus Snape, Hogwarts Castle _addressed on the front, taking only a moment to appreciate her flowing, graceful penmanship. Impatiently, he began to read.

_Dear Severus,_

_I know you were probably expecting to hear from me much sooner, and I'm sorry for making you wait. I hope you didn't think I forgot about you, because nothing could be further from the truth. Speaking of remembering, it was sweet of you to remember how cold my hands get. The gloves were such a thoughtful gift. Thank you. I've worn them every day, and every time I look at them, I think of you. I hope you had a happy Christmas, and that winter isn't driving you crazy like it is me. Next chance I get, I'm Apparating straight to the sunniest beach I can find and thawing out!_

_So, I guess I should answer your questions now, shouldn't I? As for the first one, I do forgive you, because I don't think you wanted to hurt me. And I hope you'll forgive me for overstepping my bounds and examining you so closely. You barely know me, and that must have been awkward and weird. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, which I'm pretty sure I did. But if it makes any difference, I really did just want to help._

_As to the second question, of course I'd be your friend; more if you'd let me. But I don't think you want a relationship with me, of any kind, not really. I think you asked me to consider you a friend just so my feelings wouldn't be hurt, and that what you really want is for me to leave you alone. Otherwise, why didn't you just come to Diagon Alley instead of sending that note? I wanted to see you. Sometimes I'd watch the door, hoping you'd walk through it, but you never did. So I stopped watching. Anyway, I told you before, I don't want to be a bother to you. If you send Athena - that's my owl - back to me without a message, I'll understand, and I won't trouble you again. It may be that I'm totally mistaken and I've misinterpreted everything, but if I have, that's for you to say. Whatever the case, I want you to be happy and I wish you well, truly, and with all my heart. _

_All the best, Hestia_

Snape's lips parted. He had anticipated a myriad of reactions she might have had to his note, but this open invitation to accept or reject her was not among them. Only a few hours earlier, he'd been sure that he'd never hear from her again, and the decision to let her go for her own sake had seemed easy. But she had effectively knocked the Quaffle back into his court, forcing him to do what he feared most - _choose_.

The great clock chimed on the hour; the break was over, and no doubt, his next class, double Potions with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, would be waiting on him. Severus groaned. How had the time gotten away with him? With a low growl, he snatched up his wand and left, not noticing that Hestia's owl flew behind him into the classroom.

Athena landed on one of the desks near the back, hooting affectionately. Snape's ear caught with the sound; he gave an irritated sigh as he realized the bird had followed him. The Potions Master whirled round to call her to him, then paused in midstep. His dark eyes bulged when he saw where she had settled. Instantly he recognized the pale skin, squat stature and black hair that belonged to the Jones family, and the face of the boy Hestia had been sitting with in the hospital wing the day he'd met her. Even without the bunny ears that had been cursed on, he'd recognize the child anywhere; that moment was burned in his memory. "Henry Jones," he remembered aloud.

The boy shook in his seat. "Yes, Professor?" The other Ravenclaws held their breath. When Snape singled someone out like this, it couldn't be good.

"Do you know this bird?"

Henry gave a reluctant nod. "Yes, sir. It belongs to my aunt."

Snape nodded, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "Remain after class for a moment. I need to speak with you." With that, the batlike form of the professor turned and swooped to the front of the class.

Henry's Ravenclaw friends exchanged looks of panic. Henry himself donned an expression not unlike that of a deer in the headlights, slumping down in his chair. "Thanks a lot, Aunt Hesty," he said in a shaky whisper. "I'm doomed!"

ooo LL ooo

Hermione wiped at her cheeks, hoping the flood of tears that stung her eyes had ebbed. She'd thought a visit to Hagrid's might do her good, but she'd just ended up crying. Hagrid had asked again if he should say something to Harry and Ron, but she'd insisted that she wanted them to come back on their own. It was the first time she'd seen Hagrid speechless; he hadn't spoken a word as he escorted her back to the castle, except for yelling to hold back the dementors when they sensed her sadness and came too close.

"Don' you think on it, Hermione," Hagrid had said. "Beaky and I are always glad when you pay us a visit, and as for _those _two - well, they don' know what they're missin', and that's the truth."

_He's right_, Hermione thought as she climbed the staircase and felt the familiar lurch in her stomach as it wheeled around to change to Gryffindor Tower, _they really don't know what they're missing_. And then she put her hand in her pocket where a letter from Malfoy waited, and for the first time in several days, she laughed.

"Hey, Hermione," said Ginny a little awkwardly as she entered the common room. Dean and Seamus looked up from the couch where they were doing an Arithmancy assignment, but said nothing.

"Hey, Ginny. Mind if I sit down?" Ginny nodded, then scooted over and let Hermione sit on the plush maroon settee. "I feel as though I ought to lie down, really. I don't think I'm getting enough sleep."

"No kidding," Ginny agreed quickly, tucking red hair behind her ear. "How's Hagrid?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Were you following me again?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "For your information, I wasn't before. And I saw you through the window."

Hermione felt a little sheepish. "Oh. Sorry. Hagrid's fine."

"Good." The youngest Weasley paused for a moment, debating whether or not to say what was on her mind. In the end, it seemed she would. "Listen, I… I wanted to say I'm sorry for doubting you, about… that thing we argued over. I saw something today that made me… well, I won't say it made me understand any better, but I can say for sure that I believe you now."

Hermione was genuinely surprised. "You do?" _What did Draco do? _she wondered.

"Yeah, I do." Ginny bit her lip. "And I'll do what you asked me. I won't tell a soul, promise."

Hermione could see that Ginny had been wrestling with this, and that her conscience had won out. She also saw that she meant to be her friend, whether Ron or Harry chose to be or not. "Thank you," she said, gratefully.

"But I'm holding you to your word as well," Ginny hastily added, "which means not a word to you-know-who about _you-know-what_."

"I promise," Hermione replied faithfully. "Now, I've got to study. Professor Vector assigned -"

"You don't need to explain to me, Hermione," Ginny murmured. "I know how crazy your schedule is. But don't go hide in the library, not tonight. Harry and Ron need to see you here, with us. You're still a Gryffindor. Let them see that."

Hermione nodded, understanding. "Thanks, Ginny." She moved to the corner of the common room and sat, piling her books in a tottering stack on the table beside her and reaching for her Arithmancy notes.

She worked in peace for awhile as other Gryffindors came and went around her. She thought she saw Ron pass by once, glaring at her, but she pretended not to notice. Then, about an hour later, there was an explosion of sound from the hidden door, where Harry and Ron had just entered, the former carrying the Firebolt.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. _McGonagall must not have found anything wrong with it, _she realized. _Well, better safe than sorry. And besides, it showed me exactly where their priorities are - and that I'm not one of them. I mustn't forget that when they come crawling back._ Her sigh inaudible over the loud din glorifying the new broomstick, Hermione hunched determinedly over her Arithmancy essay and finished the last paragraph with a flourish.

After the excitement died down, Harry let Ron take the Firebolt upstairs so he could give Scabbers his rat tonic, then asked if he could sit down with her. He hadn't apologized - Hermione hadn't expected him to - but at least they were speaking again. For now, she supposed, that could be enough. He asked her cordially about her classes, wondering how she could get through it all, and for a moment it felt like everything was almost back to normal.

And then there was a shout, and Ron came rushing down the stairs, waving a bloody sheet and raving accusations in her face. Hermione's heart sank with the ending of her short-lived reunion with Harry. This time, it wasn't just a parting of the ways for her and Ron. This time, it was war.

ooo LL ooo

**My apologies to the first few readers. Apparently when I uploaded, some of the words got squeezed together, especially the ones in italics. I've gone back and tried to fix it. If there are any other errors, I apologize! - LL**


	17. Specialis Concelio

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter was created and is owned by JK Rowling. This is just a fanfic written solely for fun; no infringement is intended.

ooo LL ooo

Everyone was at dinner in the Great Hall. Everyone except Hermione Granger.

She had been going to dinner early, eating quickly, and then retiring to the safety of the library or the common room until it was time for bed. It was the only way if she wanted to get everything done; and lately, the only way to avoid Ron's nasty remarks about Scabbers' alleged demise. Hermione was so cross with Ron she could have spat. If she'd thought he was actually grieving over the loss of his pet, she wouldn't have minded so much, but he seemed more interested in making her miserable and getting others' sympathetic attention than in finding out what actually happened to Scabbers. According to Neville, Ron had stopped checking under beds and furniture for his rat, and no longer looked for him at all.

Hermione didn't want to admit it, but the task of just getting through each day was becoming harder to manage. Between Ron's new pasttime of taunting her, juggling all her classes, maintaining the strict secrecy of the Time Turner, and being unable to see Malfoy, she felt like a human-shaped pressure cooker about to explode. The added knowledge that Buckbeak's trial was coming up soon did nothing to calm her nerves. In fact, she was nearly frantic.

Hermione took a seat in the corner of the common room and pulled out her Ancient Runes assignment. She read through several lines of the material, then again, struggling to concentrate. Blinking hard, she wiped crust from the corners of her eyes. _Only a few more months_, she kept telling herself like a mantra, _if you can hang on and not drop any classes, you'll have more options open to you next year. You can do this, Hermione. Just stay alert - and stay awake_!

But her mind refused to stay on Ancient Runes, wandering instead to Malfoy and his most recent letter. She withdrew it from her satchel, fondly running her fingers across the parchment with the green ink he only used for their secret communiqués. Malfoy's father had been oddly quiet lately; he'd had no letters from Lucius, about the hippogriff trial or anything else. Letters from his mother implied that Lucius had been acting strangely since Christmas, and Draco was concerned. Predictably, Pansy had stepped up her attentions. Hermione couldn't suppress a snicker when she read Draco's comments on the subject: _I'd rather hold hands with a Venomous Tentacula. At least with it, I might have a chance of getting my arm back._ And he'd asked her a very odd question: if she thought it possible that they'd been sorted into the wrong Houses. Hermione sighed softly, closing her eyes as she considered her answer.

Ancient Runes could wait a bit longer, she decided. She withdrew a fresh sheet of parchment and bit her lip.

_Dear Draco,_

_I know what you mean about feeling like you were Sorted into the wrong House. I feel like that myself lately. Harry got the Firebolt back, did you know? He decided he'd talk to me again, but not five minutes later, Ron came rushing in and said my cat had killed his rat. There was no real evidence, but Ron never believes he's in the wrong, and of course Harry sided with him instead of me, as usual. I wonder about "Gryffindor loyalty" sometimes; whether it's just an awful sham, or if it just applies to everyone but me. _

_For what it's worth, I think we should have been sorted into Ravenclaw. We're both too intelligent and independent to be where we are. But I've been thinking. The Sorting Hat only reads what's in your head at the time you put it on. When I first came to Hogwarts, I only knew what this place was like by reading about it. All the great wizards I'd read about came from Gryffindor, so I wanted to be one, even though the Hat suggested putting me in Ravenclaw. And I'm sure your father's influence is why you expected to be in Slytherin, so of course the Hat put you there. _

_Maybe I should suggest to Dumbledore (anonymously, of course) that we start a new tradition and re-Sort at the beginning of each year. That way, if we've changed or, I should say, if we've found ourselves and we're not who we thought we were, we won't be trapped where we don't belong. Also, it would increase the likelihood of our houses actually getting along instead of fighting all the time, since most of us would have been in more than one. What do you think? Is it a decent idea?_

_I do think it's odd that you haven't heard from your father. I hope your mum is all right. And I'm sorry about Pansy. If she messes with your arm or any other part of you, she'll answer to me. _

_I've been trying to find somewhere else we can meet, but no luck yet. I've even considered the third floor, which is hardly cheerful, and Moaning Myrtle's lavatory, which means I'm getting desperate for ideas. Please tell me you know of somewhere better? I really miss you. Here's hoping I can see you soon, and talk to you properly. I have so much to tell you, things I can't say in a letter._

_Yours, Hermione_

Once the ink was dry, Hermione tapped her wand twice on the parchment and whispered, "_Specialis concelio con palabris secreto, Tea and Scones_." Instantly the parchment went blank, and she rolled it up and sealed it. _Specialis revelio _and _Specialis concelio _were advanced spells far beyond third year, designed to reveal or conceal private text in correspondence, and the addition of a password made the charm nearly impenetrable. Only Malfoy knew their mutual password - _Tea and Scones _- and the joke behind it. Anyone else would be guessing at passwords forever before they could figure it out. Safe in that knowledge, Ancient Runes was forgotten once more as, hands clutching the ruby-and-emerald heart round her neck, she promptly fell asleep in her chair.

ooo LL ooo

It was a blustery afternoon in London. The bookshop and publishing house of Hector Obscurus was hardly more ebullient than the howling wind outdoors. It was warm inside, but dark and musty as a cave, scarcely any light seeping between the shelved tomes.

The wizened old owner sat reclined in an armchair near the window, where the whirring sound of the wind lulled him to sleep, thick spectacles resting askew on his long nose. He had very nearly drifted off into a nice nap when the bell jangled, followed by a few footsteps and the muffled thud of the door. The elderly wizard grumbled inaudibly. "Hestia? Can you get that?"

Hestia Jones looked up from the latest manuscript and nodded eagerly, knees strained from what seemed like hours of sitting as she rose to answer the bell. _Anything to get me up from this wretched desk for a minute_, she thought with relief, _I feel as though I've been chained to it since New Year_. "I'll be right with you!" she called, sounding more jolly than she felt. Stiff-kneed, she made her way from the glittering darkness of the dusty used bookroom, glancing down at her aged employer as she passed. Already his eyes were snapped shut, as if daring anything else to disturb his daytime slumber.

Hestia's trainers squeaked as she trudged through the open doorway. She ran her fingers through her wild tangle of hair to pull it back from her face. When her dark strands parted, she saw a young witch near her own age dressed in a way that could be described as gothic-punk, poring over the selections on Magical Creatures. The girl blew a bubble nearly as vibrant pink as her hair before turning over her shoulder to address Hestia. "Wotcher! You work here, right?"

"Sadly, yes," Hestia joked, eliciting a grin from the pink-haired witch. "Anything I can help you with?" She glanced down at the two books already clutched in the customer's arms. "I see you're interested in werewolves."

The punk witch's cheeks blushed crimson. "Yeah… I mean, not really, uh… well, sort of…"

"Well, you're in the right place," Hestia informed her, hoping her easy reply would make the girl feel a little more comfortable. "Flourish and Blotts only keeps the biggest sellers and the latest editions in stock. We have a wider selection, especially for novelty interests, of which werewolves - at least, trying to understand them as humans instead of just a quick how-to guide on how to 86 'em when they get all furry - are one."

"Bugger," the young witch breathed, "you know your books."

"I like to read. Always have." She examined the titles of the books in the girl's arms. "Hmm. These are good, but you might also want something by Margaret Silvermoon; her work's a bit older, more unknown, but valuable if you're trying to get into the mind of a werewolf. Her young son was bitten, and she wrote about eight years' worth of journals on his struggle with the condition. I don't see them here, though, so they might be over in the biographies."

The young witch followed Hestia over to the back corner, turning in a circle as she peered round at the stacks of books that still remained to be put away. "Would you look at all this! Does he not have anybody but you to do the work around here? If I were you, I'd give him a big fat piece of my mind."

Hestia glanced back and started to laugh, then gasped as the pink-haired witch suddenly stumbled and tried to catch her balance by grasping at a shelf. "Wait! _It isn't stable _-"

But it was already too late. The shelf gave a loud groan, then a shower of heavy books came tumbling down like a leather-bound avalanche.

Hestia yanked her out of the way just in time. The bound volumes collapsed onto the floor with a sound like a long, rolling crash of thunder. Both coughed loudly as the shower of dust released in the commotion began to dissipate. For a moment they just stood there. Then, out of the awkward silence that followed, there came a rattling snore that could only have come from Mr. Obscurus in the back room. Slowly the two witches glanced round at each other, eyebrows raised. And then, by unspoken consensus, they began to laugh hysterically.

"Well, it's official," Hestia announced grandly, "that man can sleep through _anything_."

"No kidding," the pink-haired witch chuckled. "Who's the snoozy old geezer?"

"My boss. Are you all right, then?" Hestia asked, still trembling with mirth.

The other witch gave a sheepish nod. "Sorry about this. I'm dead clumsy. Like letting a hippogriff loose in a china shop, my mum used to say. D'you want me to help you clean this up?"

"You don't have to do that," Hestia replied graciously, though her stomach sank at the sight of the mess around her that would have to be cleaned.

"Sure I do. It was _my _fault," the pink-haired witch insisted, picking up a few books. "Besides, you saved my neck just now; that would've hurt tomorrow and no mistake. Not to mention, I would've had to explain the bruises to Mad-Eye, and I'd never hear the end of it."

"_Mad-Eye_?" Hestia echoed with a wry smirk. "What, is your boyfriend a drummer or something?"

The punk witch laughed so hard she slipped and fell back into the stack with a thud. That, of course, made them laugh even harder. Hestia sat back in the pile of fallen books beside her, forgetting for a bit the task of putting them back.

"Mad-Eye's not my boyfriend, he's my mentor," the punk witch explained then. "I'm studying to be an Auror. Nearly done, too, if I could just stop being a klutz long enough to pass the field tests."

"Wow," Hestia breathed. "That sounds exciting. Definitely more exciting than working here."

"You don't really seem the type to be all holed up in a dustbin like this," the witch said, examining Hestia closely. "What keeps you here?"

"It's a job," Hestia shrugged, "and as I've lost several of them lately, I'm just glad to have it. Still, I'm starting to wonder if it was a mistake for me to leave the U.S. Everything seems to have gone wrong since I came back here." She thought of Severus Snape, and winced. Her owl, Athena, had yet to return with his reply.

"Why _did _you come back?" Tonks wondered.

"Family," Hestia replied a little too quickly, not bothering to explain any further than that.

"Hmm." The other witch looked thoughtful for a moment. "So I guess I didn't introduce myself _properly_. Call me Tonks." Tonks made a face, then added, "And no, that's not my first name; it's my surname. My first name is a fright and I don't tell most people what it is."

Hestia chuckled at that. "Fair enough. Tonks it is, then. I'm Hestia Jones. Nice to meet you." She shook the young witch's hand warmly.

"Likewise." She stood from the pile and dusted her trousers off. "Well, I reckon we best get back to it. Do you want to try using magic to get them back up there? It might be quicker."

Hestia bit her lip uncertainly. "I don't know…"

"Oh, come on, what's the worst that can happen? You never know what you can do until you try." Tonks flicked her wand at the pile of books, then said, "_Levilibro_!" In response, the books rattled and gave a splendid leap, then collapsed in an untidy heap. Tonks gave an awkward laugh. "Maybe you should try it."

Hestia chuckled. "Okay, but later. Let's just see if we can dig your books out of here for now."

"Thanks. I really appreciate you for putting up with me, and for being so nice." Tonks helped her dig into the pile. "Listen, if you ever get a minute, why don't you owl me? We could go for drinks, maybe catch a concert?"

"Sounds like fun," Hestia replied happily, feeling more cheerful than she had in weeks. _Well, what do you know? I think I just made a friend. _

ooo LL ooo

Hermione felt warm hands shaking her arm. Blearily, she blinked to find herself staring into a mischievous face below carrot-topped hair, the weathered handle of a broomstick, and leather Quidditch gear. "Fred?" she murmured. "Sorry, I must have dozed off."

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," the impishly grinning face said, blurring into focus. "Easy, Hermione, you're getting as bad as Mum with that."

"Bless her, she can usually tell us apart," Fred said with a laugh.

"Just thought we'd tell you," George said then, "Quidditch practice is over, and Harry and Ron are having a go on the Firebolt -"

"-but we expect they'll be in soon," Fred finished for him. "We thought you might not want to have to face Ron just now -"

"-since he's acting like an overgrown baby," George continued, shaking his head. "You'd think he was taking prat lessons from Percy. We're really sorry, Hermione."

"We tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen," Fred added.

"Thanks, guys," Hermione said appreciatively, hugging them each in turn. "You're very sweet."

"Careful, there, Hermione," Fred chuckled then, jabbing his brother with a skinny elbow, "you're making George blush."

"Oh, go on!" George protested, pushing his twin away. "Exertion of Quidditch practice, that's all. It's not like your face is lily-white at the moment either. And look at your ears! Nearly purple."

Hermione laughed, happy to feel lighthearted for just a moment. As they helped her gather up her books, she turned to them and smiled. "You know, Ron doesn't know how lucky he is to have you two as brothers."

"Yeah. We think so too," Fred grinned wickedly.

George nodded his agreement. "But don't tell him. We'd never hear the end of it."

"Not to worry," Hermione promised the Weasley twins, tucking the charmed parchment into the safety of her bag and making a mental note to get it to Malfoy the next day, "I know how to keep a secret."

ooo LL ooo

Draco knew the moment Potter walked into breakfast the next morning that something was very wrong. Instead of being flanked by the youngest Weasley boy and his sister, Harry had practically a regiment of boys surrounding him on his way to the Gryffindor table, nearly fighting each other for the chance to be close to him. _No, not him_, he realized as he peered closer, _his broom_. Draco's jaw dropped as he saw the telltale wooden handle slung casually over Potter's shoulder; its waxy gleam was nearly as brilliant as the Gryffindor Seeker's triumphant grin. _No. It can't be. Hermione said McGonagall had it…_ He glanced down at his pocket, where the latest letter from Hermione was hidden, still unread. He had a sinking feeling that were he to read it now, it would only confirm the worst.

"What's the matter, Draco?" Pansy wondered from across the table, twirling a lank lock of hair around her finger. She was either attempting to make the dark, oily strand curl or look coquettish and coy; either way, she failed miserably. Crabbe and Goyle just glanced at each other, shrugging.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his flaxen hair in disbelief. He'd known this might happen; Hermione said that if McGonagall found nothing wrong with it, she'd give it back. It seemed impossible that Granger had been wrong, that the Firebolt was not a death-trap sent by Sirius Black. Still, seeing was believing, and there was no escaping the awful truth now. With unwilling resignation, Draco finally muttered, "Potter's got a Firebolt."

"_What_?!" Marcus Flint all but growled, spilling his pumpkin juice as his apelike fists came crashing down on the table. "Malfoy, are you sure?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the hulking Slytherin Quidditch captain, then motioned his head in the direction Potter was sitting. Harry was proudly showing off his new broom to the awestruck Gryffindors, who were cheerfully clamoring all around him. "Pretty sure," Malfoy drawled coldly.

"You should go find out," said Montague, a burly, chestnut-haired fifth-year who was a Chaser on the Slytherin team, "we need to know what we're up against."

Bole, one of the Slytherin Beaters, nodded his agreement. "Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw already are. Look." A crowd of students with yellow and blue crests on their robes had gathered around the Gryffindor table, pressing in like canned sardines.

"Go on, then," Flint ordered him, "check it out, then come tell us."

Malfoy's jaw tightened. The last thing he wanted right now was to be anywhere near Potter or that red-headed dunce Weasley. The very sight of those two dunderheads made his skin crawl with loathing. Even worse, it demeaned him, being sent like a common house-elf to examine the broom when any one of them could have gone. Down the table, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott gave each other a calculating glance. They were all too aware that Draco had lost this little power struggle, and they weren't the only ones who appreciated the significance of Malfoy being made to do _anything_. Still, Flint was Quidditch captain. If Draco wanted to remain on the team and avoid his father's punishment for being kicked off, he'd do as he was told. "Fine," he seethed at last. "Come on, Crabbe, Goyle."

Draco waited until the Head Boy and his Ravenclaw girlfriend moved away before closing in, then made his move. He already knew it was a Firebolt thanks to Hermione, but he had to make a show of examining it, or his house-mates would be suspicious. Leaning his head in, he pretended to look closely, and narrowed his eyes as he saw the word _Firebolt _etched in gold on the handle. _There it is - the broom that broke a friendship_, Malfoy glumly appraised. _And now he's in here glorifying it, and where's Granger? Nowhere to be seen. Potter, you disgust me_.

"It really _is _a Firebolt," Goyle muttered nervously beside him.

Crabbe sucked in a sharp breath. "Malfoy, what are you going to do?"

"I'll handle this," he hissed. The Firebolt was the superior broom; his Nimbus 2001 was no match for it, and Draco knew it. Still, face had to be saved. The Slytherin Seeker pushed his way into Harry's view, trying to restrain the level of his repugnance as he confronted him. "Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?" he asked sharply.

"Yeah, reckon so," came Potter's nonchalant reply.

Draco couldn't believe the boy's cocky attitude. He hadn't paraded _their _team's new Nimbus 2001's at the breakfast table last year for all the school to see. He nodded his head at the Firebolt. "Got plenty of special features, hasn't it? Shame it doesn't come with a parachute - in case you get too near a dementor." He sneered, Crabbe and Goyle snorting behind him.

"Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy. Then it could catch the Snitch for you." Potter looked mockingly up at him, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team started to howl with laughter. It took all Malfoy's effort to restrain himself and walk away. He wanted nothing more than to pick up that broom and beat Potter senseless with it, but this wasn't the time or place to avenge a personal vendetta.

_Laugh it up, Potter_, he thought furiously, _but if you ever find yourself facing the wrong end of my father's wand the way I have, you won't think it's so funny. I hope you do. It'd be no more than you deserve._

"Well?" Flint asked roughly as Malfoy came back over. He scanned the faces of Crabbe and Goyle, who weren't subtle enough to hide their distress. "So it really is a Firebolt, then."

Draco nodded bleakly. "And he has it just in time for the game today. Normally Cho Chang might have given him a run for his Galleons, but she has a Comet 260; she won't stand a chance against _that_."

"_You _may not, either," Bole unnecessarily pointed out. Before Draco could snap out a rejoinder, however, Flint cut in.

"We need a plan. Potter _has _to have a weakness."

"He's afraid of the dementors," Malfoy informed them. "He acted like he wasn't when I mentioned them just now, but Potter's all talk. I remember how he fainted on the train when one came near him, and we all saw how he fell off his broom before because of them."

"You're right, he did." Flint nodded slowly. "But Dumbledore won't let them anywhere near the Quidditch pitch, not since that day."

"Wait, remember those boggarts in Professor Lupin's class? Sometimes something you _think _is real will scare you just as much as the real thing," Montague said cleverly. "Maybe you don't need _real _dementors at all."

Malfoy arched a blond eyebrow, not following Montague's line of thought, but Flint's broad shoulders began to move up and down as he gave a dark, trollish laugh. "Boys, I think we have a plan."

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Hermione almost didn't make it to the game. Once again, she'd fallen asleep on top of her books, this time reading a monstrous thick one about the lives of Muggles in Britain for her Muggle Studies class. When she woke and realized the game was halfway over, she debated for a minute whether she should even go. Harry had at least _tried _to make peace with her before; and even if he hadn't, the Weasley twins were playing and they _had _been kind to her in spite of Ron. She owed it to them to show her support. She put on a warm jumper, found a safe spot and rewound time, then hurried out to the Quidditch pitch, sneaking in with a crowd of Hufflepuffs.

It occurred to her that as it was Quidditch, Malfoy was bound to be here. She scanned the bleachers, but saw no sign of his platinum hair, among the Slytherins or anywhere else. Hermione's shoulders sank with a heavy sigh. _What could have kept him away? _she wondered, knowing he loved Quidditch as well as Harry did.

She reluctantly turned her attention back to the game, and almost wished she hadn't. Harry was flying in rare form, but it wasn't only thanks to the lightning-fast speed of the Firebolt. He was clearly showing off for Cho Chang, the Ravenclaws' pretty Seeker. _Knock it off, Harry_, Hermione thought, rolling her eyes, _you're going to get cocky and lose the game! _

Luckily Harry focused again, diving against Cho for the Snitch near the Ravenclaw end of the field. He almost had it when Cho pointed at something on the ground. Hermione gasped, her hands covering her mouth in horror. _Dementors! Three of them! Oh, no! Where's Dumbledore? How did they get past him?_

Before Hermione could work up a proper fright, though, Harry pointed his wand and something white and vapory shot out, chasing the black-hooded beings away and knocking them to the ground. A cheer went up from the Gryffindor crowd as Harry caught the Snitch and won the game. Hermione barely cared. All that mattered to her was that Harry was still alive, and had somehow warded off the dementors.

McGonagall was rushing down the stairs beside her. On an instinct, Hermione hastily followed her Head of House down, careful to stay far enough behind not to be noticed. When the professor reached the field, Professor Lupin was already there with Harry in tow. Hermione slunk behind the bleachers and peered through the cracks, riddled with curiosity. How had Harry, a third-year, taken out three dementors simultaneously? It was a feat unheard of in modern wizardry. If anyone could explain this mystery, Professor McGonagall could.

And then she saw it - a pile of black material on the ground, with Marcus Flint and her own Draco Malfoy poking their heads up out of it. Two massive forms were still wriggling around inside; she could only presume those were Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione's heart began to pound. Her face reddened with anger and shame as she realized what Malfoy and his friends had just done. _He tried to cheat! How utterly unfair! How… how _Slytherin_! Malfoy, how could you? If this was _your _idea… oh, it's just appalling! Harry might have been killed!_

Apparently, Professor McGonagall thought so too. She was shaking a finger and scolding them something awful. Fred and George Weasley took Harry away with a crowd of cheering Gryffindors, and Professor Lupin also seemed to have gone. Professor Dumbledore arrived on the scene only a moment later. He began admonishing the Slytherin culprits as well, unable to hide his anger and disappointment. _That's nothing_, Hermione thought, _just wait until Professor Snape gets a hold of them for losing all those House points. _

Sure enough, Professor Snape was there in half a second, roughly extricating his students from the tangle of black robes and yanking them up by the collars. His face was twisted with rage. "I will see the four of you in my office in one hour," he fumed, "and be punctual, or you shall have detentions from me as well. Now, get out of my sight! Except for you, Malfoy. You will remain."

Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint were grimly escorted up the hill by Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, the latter's strained voice still rebuking the wayward Slytherins as they went. As the remaining students poured out of the stands, Snape grabbed Draco by the elbow and started walking, steering him away from the crowd.

Hermione gasped. Snape was pulling Draco towards the very place where she was hiding! She scrambled for the cover of a far corner underneath the stepped wooden platform, tucking herself behind the edge and hoping her robes and shoes didn't poke out from her concealed place in the shadows.

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Fear gripped Malfoy as Snape led him away from the dispersing throng of Quidditch fans. Snape's hand was firmly locked on his elbow. Once safely beneath the bleachers, in a row of long shadows punctuated by thin beams of dusty light, Snape pushed him away roughly. The blond boy skidded across the dirt, tripping once over the ridiculous black costume before he could stand on his own two feet.

Draco bit his lip. He knew he looked foolish in the false dementor's black robes, and that a moment later, one of Snape's eloquent tirades would make him feel as foolish as he looked. The professor paced furiously, building up his momentum. At any moment, the degradation would begin. Finally, it struck.

"That was a foolhardy prank, Mr. Malfoy. You're lucky you weren't expelled, as your practical joke might have killed Potter. Professor McGonagall is going easy on you."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. "You call that going _easy _on - "

"_Silence_! And in yet another unbelievable stroke of fortune, Dumbledore has chosen _not _to inform your parents. Have you any idea how close you just came to another incident with Lucius? Had he been called to the school, he would have -" Snape halted himself in midphrase, casting a chary glance at Draco.

With a lurch in his stomach, Draco realized that Snape _knew_. He vaguely understood that the dark, sinister-seeming professor meant him no harm; seemingly, just the opposite. Still, it left him feeling vulnerable and uneasy. An odd look passed between them. There was a common distrust in it, but also an understanding.

After a moment, Draco hung his head, closing his eyes in defeat. "Just say it, Professor. He would have beat me. Hexed me. Cursed me." His throat was so dry by this time from stadium dust and from fear that he almost choked on the words. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"No, I do not." Snape's face relaxed a bit at the compliment; it faded from furious to merely annoyed.

"How long have you known?"

"For some time now." Snape paused. "Despite appearances, Draco, I am _attempting _to be of help to you. But I cannot protect you when you refuse to protect yourself."

"I don't _need _protecting!" Draco insisted, only aware after the fact that the stamp of his foot into the stadium dust made him look far more childish than a boy of thirteen.

"Really?" Snape scoffed. "Do you think Lucius would have been pleased to hear about your little joke today, and the fact that it disgraced you in front of your schoolmates?"

"It wasn't _my _idea!" Malfoy shot back. "Flint's the one who made us do it."

"I don't care to know who instigated it. _Think_, Draco. You cannot afford to be careless. You have already been so once; had I not interfered in your connection with Miss Granger, you might have put her or yourself in danger -"

"Leave her out of this!" Draco cried, an odd sensation tugging at his gut as the Potions Master brought up Hermione.

"Would _Lucius _leave her out of it?" Snape retorted, dark eyes glittering. Draco hesitated; Snape had a point. "He is a dangerous man, not to be taken lightly, _especially _not by you; yet you seem to continually insist on doing so."

"I don't understand why you're so eager to protect me from him. I thought you were _friends _with my father," Draco ventured.

A shadow crept over Snape's face; he turned away, his expression lost in the darkness. "Your father stood by me at many a time when others turned away," he murmured. "In turn, I have stood by him, and determined to stand by the Malfoy family. For now, that is all you need know." Snape glanced over his shoulder. "We should return. I have three more Slytherins to scold, and detentions to serve. Shall we?"

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**A/N: Sorry it's been taking me so long to update. I'm going to try to be better about this. Thanks again for all the sweet reviews! - LL**


	18. END SUMMARY

END SUMMARY for "To Love the Unlovely"

_A/N: I apologize to my readers. I've made so many attempts to work on this story and regretfully, I am unable to finish it. So, I'm giving you a summary of what would have happened had I been able to complete it. Thanks again to all of you for all your sweet reviews! I am touched and honored that so many of you thought so well of my work. Much love, Lavender Leo  
_

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REMAINDER OF YEAR 3

When Draco makes fun of Hagrid crying before Buckbeak's execution, Hermione's resolve finally breaks. She can't stand it, because Hagrid was so kind to her when Harry & Ron were avoiding her. She slaps Malfoy, and later when he tries to question her about it, she says she meant it. She can't understand how Draco could see something worthwhile and good in her, but not in Hagrid, when he's so kind. Hermione decides that as much as both of them want it to, they can't make this work. Draco has to be someone cruel and snobbish at least on the surface in order to stay safe from his father, and she can't go on like that, seeing him as two different people - one she loves, and one she hates. Draco sees how hard this year has been for her and has a bad feeling that things are only going to get worse and divide them further, so even though it hurts him, he lets her go. She tries to give the necklace back but he tells her to keep it, to remember him by.

Lucius approves of Draco's new, full-hearted appearance of coldness and the fact that he's "given up" his attachment to Hermione, which of course he knew about (he was listening in that night when Draco was talking to his mom). Lucius starts to teach him the Dark Arts in secret. Narcissa watches in fear of what he'll become under Lucius's influence, but she dares not interfere.

Hermione confides in Ginny that it's over with Draco and cries. Ginny comforts her, secretly hoping that Hermione won't turn to Harry now and get in her way. Of course, Harry never finds out what happened between Hermione and Malfoy. The school year ends with Sirius and Buckbeak safe, and Hermione deciding to move on as best she can.

Hestia & Tonks become best friends. Tonks admits that she has a crush on an older man (Lupin) & says he "doesn't know she's alive." Hestia says she likes someone older as well, but doesn't tell Tonks who at this time, and she wonders if she'll ever hear from Snape again.

Later, Snape shows up at her flat to bring her owl back, and says that what he needs to say couldn't be said in a letter. Severus thanks her for her care and for seeing the best in him when everyone else has only ever seen the worst. He says that she's made something come alive in him, a part of him he thought was dead. He then explains to her that it's safer if she stays away from him, revealing that he's a former Death Eater. She says she doesn't care about that, that she knows he's good and caring inside. He's touched, but he warns her that war is coming, and he doesn't want to risk that someone might hurt her to get at him. He won't risk losing her like he "lost" someone he loved before, he says. He claims he can protect her best by staying away and he tells her she should leave England and go back to America, soon. She refuses to leave and says her family and life are here now, as is what she cares about most. Hestia tries to kiss him, and he starts to kiss her back but pulls away and says "I can't," then leaves.

Tonks thinks Hestia is better off once she finds out the man was Snape, because he was a Death Eater. She says "Once wizards go bad, they don't come back." But she knows Hestia is heartbroken & also needs to get away from her dead-end job with the bookstore, so Tonks decides to get her mind off things by helping her get a new job - with the Ministry, as a secretary for Kingsley Shacklebolt.

YEAR 4

At the Quidditch World Cup, Draco knows what's going to happen afterwards, that the Death Eaters are going to show the world that they're back. That's why he is horrified to see Hermione moving towards where he knows the Death Eaters - and his father - are. He pretends to be rude but is really warning the boys to keep her out of danger, and he is relieved when Harry & Ron take her away.

Draco goes to visit the trio on the train to see if they know about the tournament, and to get a look at Hermione, checking in on her. Hermione doesn't look up from her book because it hurts too much to see him and talk to him, but neither of them is mean to each other either. He only insults Harry and Ron.

When Durmstrang arrives & Viktor Krum - whom Draco idolizes - starts to take an interest in Hermione, things get awkward. Krum asks Draco about her because he sees that there's something there, but Draco says that she chose Harry's friendship over him. Krum thinks that means she likes Harry (and coupled with all the time he sees Hermione spend with Harry, he's scared that she and Harry are a couple).

Draco gets a moment alone with Hermione before the ball and says she looks happy. She tells him looks can be deceiving, as he well knows, and they share a moment. Hermione says Krum helps keep the loneliness away, but she misses _him_. Pansy overhears & is livid. She understands now why Draco won't be mean to Hermione anymore, and why he wouldn't pay attention to her before when she was practically throwing herself at him. From that point, she has a personal vendetta against Hermione.

Krum comes and escorts Hermione in. She dances with him and the Slytherins and of course, Ron throws a fit, saying she's 'fraternizing with the enemy,' but he's really just jealous. He realizes now that Hermione is out of his league & it makes him angry and resentful. She says if he's so mad he should have asked her himself and not as a last resort, and Ron insults her and skulks off to pout, taking Harry with him. She cries as Ron and Harry walk off. Krum tries to comfort her, but Karkaroff comes to get him and tells him he needs to rest up for the tournament, so Krum asks Malfoy to stay with her. He promises he will. He walks with her as far as Gryffindor Tower, and while they're alone, Draco kisses her and promises her that even if she gives up on him, he'll never give up on her.

Severus sees the turn Draco is taking and wonders if he did the right thing in separating him and Hermione, but it's done now. He and Karkaroff argue; he tells Karkaroff he's a fool to try to run from the Dark Lord when the Mark shows up, but Igor says he'd rather die than go back to him & be a Death Eater again. Snape says that may very well happen if he runs, and warns him accordingly.

Dumbledore tells Snape it's time for him to go back to Voldemort, and Snape argues with him, saying that when he made the agreement, he had no reason to want to live, and now he does. Dumbledore intuits that Snape has someone he's trying to protect. He says that even if Voldemort never suspects him of turning traitor and Voldemort wins, he should remember that Voldemort also killed Lily and would just as quickly kill someone else Snape cared about. Seeing that there's no way out, Snape reluctantly agrees. Inwardly, he hopes that he's built enough of an Occlumency wall in his mind and heart that Voldemort can't pick up on his feelings for Hestia, because he could use that against him (and maybe hurt her). He still wants his revenge on Voldemort, but now he also has something to protect.

Meanwhile, unaware that the war is brewing just under the surface, Hestia loves her new job working for Kingsley. It's much more exciting and professional, and she meets a lot of new people. She's good at research, and Kingsley recognizes this and copies her on all his reports, knowing her sharp eyes, quick mind and attention to detail may pick up on things he would miss related to finding the Death Eaters.

Kingsley tells her he appreciates her work and says she's become an invaluable help to him. He wonders why someone like her isn't married. She says because no one's ever asked, and he says he finds that hard to believe. He asks her out. She agrees, hoping it will help her get over Severus. He takes her to a Ministry event and then to a nice Indian restaurant, and they start getting closer. Tonks is excited for her, since Kingsley is handsome and good-hearted, and Hestia tries to be content.

Tonks tries to endear herself to Lupin, but he continues to be unresponsive. She's starting to get frustrated because he doesn't pay attention to her despite all her efforts. Hestia tells her maybe it's time she moved on too, and Tonks asks her if she's really happy, or just trying to forget. Hestia says she is trying to forget and hasn't been able to, but she also reminds Tonks that she was once all for her going out with Kingsley, and that she had to go on with her life. She just asks of Tonks that if something good comes along, she won't miss a chance to be happy by waiting on someone who may never come around. Lupin, of course, just wants to protect Tonks from his werewolf self and the stigma he faces in society, thinking she deserves better than that - but she doesn't know that, because he hasn't leveled with her and told her how he feels.

Hestia tells Kingsley she wants to learn to take care of herself, and he thinks since Voldemort's back, that's probably a good idea. He and Tonks both try to help her practice defensive spells at the Ministry training building, and are surprised to find she has an aptitude, because she's quick & doesn't hold back. Kingsley secretly starts to consider her for the Order, but like Snape before him, he doesn't want to put her in harm's way and is reluctant to mention it to her just yet.

Between dating Krum, her classes and helping Harry with the tournament challenges, Hermione stays too busy to think about much else, although she still misses Draco and feels the loss of him in her life.

Draco is getting fairly accomplished in the Dark Arts spells his father is teaching him, and he allows Pansy's attentions, knowing he can't have what he really wants. He starts to question whether his life is even his own anymore.

YEAR 5

At Grimmauld Place, Severus arrives for the first meeting there to find something unexpected - the Order considering inducting a new member - Hestia. She is shocked to see him there as well, since he didn't tell her about the Order or that he was a double agent, working against the Death Eaters. Tonks nominated her, and Kingsley explains that though he's reluctant, they do need her. Severus puts his foot down and tries to stop it, but Moody has tested her and thinks she's able to help, so the others vote in her favor. Severus and Molly Weasley are the only "no" votes (Molly is jealous because Arthur spoke highly of Hestia's help to Kingsley at the Ministry), so Hestia becomes an official member of the Order of the Phoenix. Tonks is overjoyed. Kingsley is afraid for her but thinks she's prepared and that Hestia is safer in the Order than she would be on her own. Severus is just plain livid, thinking she's going to get killed (and also wondering what's up with her and Kingsley).

Hermione arrives at Grimmauld Place and finds the Malfoys on the Black family tree. Draco's name is on there near where Tonks's name is burned off. She finds herself wondering if his name will ever be a burned-out hole, or if she's stupid to even keep dreaming of him as he was, to hope he could be that way again someday. Harry's getting more and more moody, and it doesn't help that Dumbledore is keeping his distance. Hermione is sure there must be a reason for it, so she keeps her eyes open. She notices the way Snape looks at Hestia Jones as he's leaving and it makes her sad because she recognizes it as the same way Draco looks at her.

The trio starts Dumbledore's Army at the school to combat Dolores Umbridge. Malfoy, who has joined Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, hopes Hermione will stay out of trouble, but doesn't expect it. He feels totally trapped now, that he has no control over his own life, and so he plays the part in all but the smallest corner of his heart.

Snape tries to teach Harry Occlumency, to no success, and is incredibly frustrated because he reminds him so much of James & thinks he's not really trying. Then when Harry sees his personal memories, he refuses to teach him anymore. He's starting to doubt whether Harry can pull off the prophecy or not and it makes him resentful that he has to play his part and never be happy, while Harry's needs are catered to yet he keeps dropping the ball.

Hermione sees Draco being pulled further and further away from her, and vice versa, and they're so caught up in being on opposite sides of the war brewing inside in the school as well as without, that they can't really even communicate. Pansy is still furious at Hermione, and she and her gang of girls torment her without mercy, although they're afraid to actually fight her (and with good reason, since because of the DA she's gotten even more deadly).

Ron is being a bear. He flaunts his relationship with Lavender in front of Hermione as though it will make her jealous, and he's pretty cruel to her. Between his snide comments and feeling lonely now that Harry and Cho are together and Ginny has an endless string of guys, she stays pretty upset. She writes to Krum and doesn't hear back from him for awhile. When she does, he says he can't tell her details about where he is or what he's doing, but that he still misses her and thinks of her often.

Lupin is on assignment with the werewolves. When he comes back, he tries to tell Tonks that it could never work between them. She presses anyway and they become lovers, but it's not long before he pulls away and tells her he is too old and his life is too dangerous, and his rejection leaves her seriously depressed. Hestia tries to comfort her, and expresses her feeling of being powerless to help to Kingsley. He asks her if Tonks is the only reason she seems so sad lately. He says he thinks they have something good going, but that it seems like her heart isn't in it. She asks him if that means he wants to break up, and he says no, that he's not letting her go, and he asks her to give him a real chance to make her happy.

Hestia keeps tabs on what's going on at the Ministry behind the scenes, since people feel comfortable talking in front of her, and reports what she hears to Kingsley.

After Umbridge takes over as headmaster, Snape dispatches the Order to the Department of Mysteries at Harry's vague clue. Hermione is afraid to have to fight Lucius at the Ministry, but fortunately he's more occupied with Harry and getting the prophecy, and he no longer considers her a threat. Snape can't risk losing his cover by appearing at the Ministry. He shows up at Grimmauld Place and is relieved that Hestia wasn't involved; when she got there everyone was already gone. He tells her what he thinks has happened and he waits there with her until the others can make it back. He asks her about Kingsley and Hestia admits that they're together. He says he truly hopes she's happy. She asks if he's angry and he says no, that he pushed her away, and he certainly couldn't ask her to wait for him; that he doesn't even know if he'll make it out of this alive. "You will," she assures him.

YEAR 6-7

Narcissa comes crying to Snape about what Draco's been assigned by the Dark Lord, and he consents to make the Unbreakable Vow with her.

Snape is still Potions Master. Karkaroff is dead, and Krum has returned to Hogwarts to take the role as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Krum reveals to Hermione that he was hiding Karkaroff for part of the time and that's why he couldn't really correspond with her. He admits that Voldemort has tried to recruit him but says he would never join the monster who killed his headmaster, who was like a second father to him. He asks if she's still friends with Malfoy and confesses that he's worried about him. Secretly, Snape is as well, although he can't show it for obvious reasons.

Ron finally confesses his feelings to Hermione but she says it's too late for all that and that her heart has long been elsewhere. He thinks it means with Krum and she lets him think that.

Krum jokingly tells her he can't date a student, but if he could, she'd be it.

Malfoy has the assignment of killing Dumbledore or else from Voldemort, and he knows he can't do it, so he's freaking out. His mind wanders to the past and he follows Hermione around, thinking the divide between them is too strong now to ever hope she'd be with him again but needing her presence to calm his mind. He sees her charm the coin and suddenly gets his awful idea of how to communicate with Imperius'ed Rosmerta. The plan begins to come together after that. He's almost going mad with worry, though, and is buckling under the strain.

Snape tries to reach out to him but Malfoy won't listen and pushes him away. Snape reluctantly asks Hermione if she'll try to talk to him, and she agrees.

Before that can happen, though, Harry finds Draco crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and the two begin fighting. Harry uses Snape's old curse from his Potions book - Sectumsempra – and it severely injures Draco.

Hermione is furious. She goes to visit Draco in the hospital wing and sees how much pain he's in and just can't stand Harry for what he did or for using that awful Potions book of the Prince's after she told him not to. She tells Harry that she could forgive him for a lot of things down the years, but not for this. Harry asks her why she cares so much since it was "only Malfoy" and Hermione reveals the truth about how her feelings for him changed in second year, and how hard it's been keeping this secret.

She asks Draco to let her help him, and he says no one can help him now. She tells him she's not afraid of Lucius and he says he has worse problems than that now. He reveals that Voldemort is threatening to kill him and his parents if he fails to kill Dumbledore, which he knows he will.

Hermione gets Draco to divulge the plan to Dumbledore, who knows about Snape's vow and decides to make Snape be the one to kill him. He promises to protect Lucius & Narcissa and makes plans to send them away to a safehouse.

Malfoy's plan goes off like clockwork, but not the way Voldemort planned. The Death Eaters show up, expecting the school to be unprepared, but the DA and the Order are ready for them. Most of the Death Eaters are killed and the rest are taken prisoner. Dumbledore, dying anyway from the Horcrux, begs Snape to finish it & Snape kills him, but because only he and Draco were there and know the truth, the others believe one of the Death Eaters took him out. Harry and Voldemort have their showdown and Harry kills him, and Neville becomes a hero when he kills Nagini (who was also a Horcrux). Snape knows Voldemort isn't completely dead and so, Harry and Ron vow to find the other Horcruxes and destroy what's left of him. They ask Hermione to go with them but she knows the Golden Trio days are over and tells them good luck, and to owl if they need help deciphering the clues that will lead them to the Horcruxes.

Several from both sides died in the battle at Hogwarts. Lupin didn't die but he was seriously injured. Now that the war is over and he's still alive, he promises Tonks he won't push her away anymore and asks her to marry him.

Kingsley was killed by Thorfinn Rowle. Hestia is grieving for him. She agrees to come back and be maid of honor in Tonks's wedding, but says she needs to go away for awhile to deal with her loss.

Molly and Arthur Weasley were both killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, and Ron vows to avenge his parents by destroying at least one Horcrux personally.

Ginny is furious that Harry and Ron are going without her right after she's lost her parents, leaving her alone. She she tells Harry she won't wait for him. Harry says he has to do this, and that she's always known that, and asks her to remember that one of Voldemort's Horcruxes almost destroyed her second year. He says he doesn't want to risk that happening again. He'd rather lose her and her still live. Ginny can't deal with that and tells him to just go. Lavender Brown agrees to wait for Ron.

Snape respectfully keeps his distance to give Hestia time to heal. After a few months, Tonks goes to him and asks him how long he plans to stay away, that Hestia needs him. He says he can't find her and Tonks says that's because she went back to America and is living in Florida. He goes there and finds her working as a copy editor at a Muggle newspaper and taking care of her Muggle mother, who is dying of cancer. (Backstory on Hestia, why she never really wanted to talk about her family: Her mother didn't know her father was a wizard when they got married, and when she found out, because of her conservative Christian beliefs she thought he was evil and divorced him. Then when Hestia started showing definite signs of being a magical child, she called her the spawn of Satan and sent her to her father in Salem, MA, whom she lived with until he died in her 7th year at the Salem Institute. When she left school, she knew she couldn't go back to her mother, so she went and lived near her father's side of the family in England. After the war, Hestia went home & made peace with her mom, who had later regretted sending her away and judging her like that when obviously God made her the way she was.) Severus says America is his home now because that's where his heart is and promises he won't leave Hestia alone again.

Lucius & Narcissa still don't approve of Hermione's Muggle lineage but they agree that since she helped save their son's life, she deserves a chance. Lucius realizes how much he almost lost by pledging himself to Voldemort and vows to give up the Dark Arts and start over with his family. Draco and Hermione get married right after graduating from Hogwarts and go to live in Paris, where Draco is to run a branch of his father's business, and where Hermione decides to open a bookshop. They're incredibly happy together.

About a year later, Harry stumbles into Hermione and Draco's flat in Paris, injured and exhausted. He comes bearing terrible news - Ron did as he promised and destroyed one of the Horcruxes, but it killed him in the process. Harry destroyed the last one on his own. He asks about Ginny, and Hermione reluctantly informs him that Ginny got married a month before, to Roger Davies. Harry collapses and they rush him to the wizard hospital in Paris. It turns out that Cho Chang is doing her residency there. She takes care of Harry and they fall for each other again.

Hermione and Draco have their first baby, a daughter named Eleanor Rose, and make Harry and Cho the godparents. They give Eleanor the ruby and emerald heart necklace, which Hermione kept all those years. She will carry the symbol of a love that defeated evil and defied all odds into the future.


End file.
